


Refraction of Light

by QueenIX



Series: Smoked Glass [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Mirror Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenIX/pseuds/QueenIX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the Intendant of Bajor sorely misjudged just what shape Odo would take on Terok Nor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gift Fit for a Queen

**Author's Note:**

> If you are especially sensitive of canon and the treatment of its characters, or if you are especially sensitive at all, maybe hit that little back button. This story is rated as explicit, and we are in the mirror universe.

 

The Intendant sat on her throne, chin in hand, surveying the rabble at her feet. Today was Court Day, which meant that instead of running her space station like she should be doing, she was forced to spend the entire day in her chambers, seated on this ornate, old-fashioned chair like a queen of old, listening to the petitions of her subjects. These petitioners were not her regular military forces and employees. Those people she met with daily under proper circumstances. Court Day was for the average citizens—private ship captains, traders, salesmen, the general people—that also resided under her domain, who all begged a moment of her time that any other time, she refused to give.

The Intendant truly hated Court Day. It bored the ever-living fuck out of her, every time. Thank the Prophets it only happened once a month.

Why the Intendant put herself through this, she had no idea. She shouldn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do. Kira Nyers was, after all, the Intendant of Bajor. She was their ruler, the highest authority in three systems, second only to Emperor Worf himself. The whole Alpha Quadrant had to answer to that crazy Klingon brute. At least, they did for now. Someday Kira might change that and then Court Day would be gone. After all, Court Day was that _patach’s_ idea in the first place. Worf always had a thing for the old ways.

To honor her Emperor, and to acknowledge his _wisdom_ in introducing this absolute waste of time into her life, the Intendant like to spend Court Day envisioning his fat, stupid Klingon head stuck on a pike. That pleasing image helped her keep her patience as she listened to the endless roll of propositions, to the grandly stupid and poorly thought-out proposals, to all of the incessant whining and crying, all the ‘me, me, me’ and ‘I need, I need, I need,’ that played to Kira like the same song, over and over, no matter how the lyrics changed. Every single peon in the place was after one thing, and one thing only. Latinum, from the overflowing coffers of the Intendant of Bajor.

Kira’s last petitioner approached, announced as a scientist from Tellarite Prime who claimed to have discovered the equation for trans-warp beaming. Kira covered her eyes and groaned. She’d had enough of idiots today, but she dutifully listened as the little man squirmed and stammered in front of her, sputtering out his proposal in a nervous rush. He would be ever so grateful, so grateful if the Intendant would look at his report and consider, please consider the extensive work he’d already put into it. Would she review the evidence he’d already managed to acquire that would tell her what he said was possible, indeed, very possible, and would she please, please consider granting him the funds to continue his research?

Kira didn’t even bother looking at the PADD. Trans-warp beaming. No one could do that; it was impossible. What a joke. Besides, she'd donated enough money to science this month.

“Your petition is denied, Dr. Scotta,"the Intendant said. "Get out.”

“B-b-b-but, Intendant, please, if you would only—“

“Guards!” she called. “Remove him! And remove everyone else who isn’t supposed to be in my chambers, including yourselves. Court Day is closed.”

Two of the station’s security force picked up the still-sputtering doctor by his arms and dragged him from the room. The rest of security cleared her chambers, leaving only the Intendant’s personal bodyguards and servants behind. The last guard hit the panel on the door, the door slid closed, and finally, oh, finally, Court Day was over.

Kira sighed with relief and removed the circlet from her brow. The damned thing was giving her a headache. She handed it off to Ziyal as she squirmed in her seat uncomfortably. It was about time she got rid of her tight black cat suit, as well. After all these hours in this chair, the leather was starting to chafe. She held a hand out the side of her throne. Immediately, Ziyal placed a full glass of cool wine in it. Kira sipped her wine and leaned back in her chair, trying to decide how—or with who—she would reward herself tonight for enduring another Court Day. A long, hot bath was in order first. Then maybe she would call that Terran, that Sisko she’d grown so fond of. Sisko was always amusing, and always eager to please. And so much _stamina_. Yes, Sisko would do nicely…

The Intendant turned to Ziyal to give her orders but was interrupted before she had the chance. The door to her chambers slid open, and Garak, the Cardassian commander of her security forces, entered.

The Intendant sat up, frowning, as Garak approached. What was Garak thinking? He knew better than to interrupt her private time. Before she spoke, however, Kira noticed that Garak was bearing a medium-sized black lacquered box, too nice of a box to be anything other than a gift. She shut her mouth and decided not to harangue Garak until he presented it. The Intendant loved gifts, and the gifts Garak brought her were always special.

“Garak,” the Intendant smiled. “Welcome back. Have you brought me another present?”

“Indeed, Intendant,” Garak replied. He stopped in front of her throne and gave her a slight bow in greeting. “Intendant, today I’ve brought you something very special, very rare, though I must admit, this time, this gift is not from me. Another has sent a gift to honor you. I am only the deliverer.”

Kira sat up even higher on her throne, scooting to the edge of her seat. “Who’s it from?” she asked.

“While I was on Bajor,” Garak said, placing the box on the floor by his feet, “I was invited to inspect the labs of the science center, and it was a most educational experience. Some interesting work happening there, most… _creative_ they are in the lab _._  The highlight of my tour was a demonstration given by the Doctor himself. What is in this box is the subject of that demonstration, Dr. Mora Pol’s personal pet project, a most valuable and prized possession of his, and he has sent it to you, dear Intendant, as a gift, with his regards…And of course, a request to increase funding for his research.”

Kira’s smile faded and her stomach did a nervous lurch. Dr. Mora was known to her, he was known to all of Bajor, and his reputation was such that just the mention of his name evoked immediate fear, and in Kira’s case, revulsion. It was almost as bad as invoking the name of the pagh-wraith itself. Kira’s mother used to devil her with threats of sending her to the evil Dr. Mora and his lab when she was behaving badly. They always worked, too.

As she grew, however, Kira learned the nefarious devil, Dr. Mora Pol, was nothing more than a biologist working for the Alliance, though admittedly a sick and twisted one. His experiments tended to involve live subjects. _Humanoid_ live subjects. However, because of his contributions to his field, especially in bio-weaponry, the Alliance generally left the Doctor alone with his playthings, turning a blind eye to what went on his lab. Kira had never seen the science center herself, though as the Intendant, she had naturally been invited to do so. If the rumors Kira heard were true, the rumors of the twisted, terrible things Mora was doing to his research subjects in that lab, of the hideous and deformed creatures he kept there, she had no desire to see it. Ever. Kira had a strong stomach for human misery, but even she had her limits, and she was content to leave Dr. Mora alone and reap the benefits of his research like everyone else.

Kira also knew when a request was not actually a request. Unfortunate things—namely, mysterious and fatal illnesses—tended to befall those who opposed Dr. Mora’s wishes. 

Kira eyed the black box by Garak's feet and shuddered with revulsion. “Grant Dr. Mora’s petition, whatever he asked for. And get rid of that box, I don’t want it, not if it’s from Mora.”

“You may wish to reconsider, Intendant,” Garak said. “Dr. Mora may inquire about the status of his pet and we will want to provide him with a favorable response. He truly was fond of it. I was in the room during the demonstration, and I assure you, there is nothing to fear. I would not have brought the box back with me if I thought Mora's pet was dangerous.”

Garak approached the Intendant. He pulled a small, black object from his pocket as he walked and then presented it to her. “The control device for the box, Intendant. The green button will open it.”

Garak moved to the side of Kira's throne, turned to watch the box, and waited for Kira's decision. Kira looked down at the small, multi-buttoned device in her hand, considering. She didn’t want to know what was in that box. Anything Dr. Mora treasured was likely to be some kind of genetically-manipulated monster, but Garak had a point. Best to stay on the Doctor’s good side.

With a resolved sigh, Kira steeled herself against what she was about to see. She raised the device, pointed it at the box, and pressed the green button.

The locks of the box gave an audible mechanical hum as they disengaged. The pressure released from the sealed lid in a slow hiss. Kira gripped the arms of her chair, both fascinated and terrified as the lid of the box began to jiggle and rise. Something from inside the box was pressing up on the lid, trying to get out. Something alive.

Kira jumped as the lid of the box was suddenly thrown back, jouncing on its hinges. Amber fluid overflowed from inside the box, a river of runny, gooey, golden gel, spilling all around and onto the floor. The flow stopped, and Kira watched, fascinated, as the gel gathered itself together from its spilled state. The amber gel pulled itself even tighter and began to glow with a warm, golden light.

“Garak,” she said, turning to him, “what is it doing?”

“Just watch, Intendant. Wait.”

Kira turned back to the amber gel. The mass was getting bigger, still glowing, the glow getting brighter the bigger it got. Nervous tension tightened her stomach as she watched the mass take shape, rising long and tall, then forming what looked like limbs, arms and legs, then a vague shape that could be a head. The light inside the mass flared sun-bright, spreading through the thing’s entire form, and Kira squinted her eyes. She shielded her face against the glare, and when she dropped her hand, the magic was done. Standing before the Intendant of Bajor stood a fully formed and fairly accurate facsimile of a humanoid man. A very handsome man, to the Intendant’s eye.

Kira clapped her hands in delight. “That’s amazing! Such a trick!”

Kira rose, descended her throne, and went to inspect her prize.

“A fitting gift, indeed,” Kira said, circling the box-man. She chuckled. “A man in a box. Who knew that sick bastard Mora had a sense of humor?”

Cautiously, Kira reached out a curious hand to touch the cloth of the thing’s green tunic. Kira was tense, ready, careful of any reaction, but grew bolder as the illusion remained and the man remained still. She smiled, and said, “This cloth, it feels like the real thing." She circled to its front, still feeling its clothing, its body, poking, pinching, pressing in places. “Muscles even,” she said. She ran her hands slowly over its chest. “Bone structure. As if there’s a body under the clothes. And it’s even breathing!”

Kira reached up and touched the box-man’s face. She caressed its skin, traced its jaw. “This face is a bit odd, but I like it anyway. And he’s warm, like real flesh…” She traced the box-man's lips with the tip of a finger and smiled. Those felt real, too.

Kira paused her curious inspecting, her hands still cupped around the box-man's face. She looked up into its eyes. They were staring straight ahead, beyond her, unseeing, seeming without life. Too bad. They were beautiful eyes, crystal blue and clear, deeply set in the oddly-featured face. Though they were a bit sad.

Kira looked at Garak. “Can we reset it? Can it do the trick again?”

“I can, Intendant.”

Kira scrabbled back and her smile disappeared. The box-man had answered her, its voice a low, raspy growl that raised the hair on her arms. She paused, chest heaving, her defenses up, but the box-man didn’t move. Kira crept slowly forward. The eyes of the box-man were no longer unseeing. They were looking straight into hers.

And it had called her Intendant. It knew who she was.

“Are you…Are you _sentient_? You’re a life form?”

“I am, Intendant," the box-man replied.

Kira glared at Garak. “You should've told me!”

"And ruin the surprise?" Garak smiled. "Oh, I think not."

Kira shot him an even darker look and turned back to the box-man.  “Do you have a name?”

“I am called Odo’ital, Intendant.”

“Odo’ital?” she repeated. “Cardassian for nothing? You are called ‘nothing?’"

"Correct, Intendant."

"Well, I don’t know what you are box-man, but whatever you are, you are not nothing. You need a name. I will call you…Odo. Is that acceptable?”

“As it pleases you, Intendant.”

Not only sentient, but obviously well-taught. He had good manners. This was getting better and better. Kira started circling around Odo again, looking him up and down, hands clasped behind her back.

“So…Odo…what are you? What race? I’ve never seen anything like you before.”

The box-man’s voice was robotic as he replied, as if his words were rehearsed and often repeated. “I am an amorphous, silicate-based life form found forty years ago in the Denorios belt. I am naturally a liquid, but I am capable of converting my biomass at will. I can replicate the form of any object, organic or inorganic, down to the cellular level. To the knowledge of those who have studied me, there is no other like me. I am singular, and I am unclassified.”

“Unclassified,” the Intendant mused. She reached up to the box-man’s temple and lightly pushed her fingers through his golden blonde hair. Very soft. Very real. She smiled at him, and finally got a bit of a reaction. A slight tilt into her hand, a shift of his eyes to hers.

“Garak,” the Intendant asked, still stroking Odo's hair, still smiling at him, “did Dr. Mora send us any information with his gift?”

“He did, Intendant, as well as a transfer of ownership. I took the liberty of having the full report downloaded to the database.”

“Very good,” the Intendant replied. She never read scientific reports, they were boring, but in this case, she would make an exception. And Mora had transferred ownership, meaning he wasn’t going to ask for his unclassified life form back. Suspicion wound itself tightly around Kira’s curiosity.

“Odo," she asked, "do you know why Dr. Mora sent you to me?”

“He said I was to serve however it pleased you, Intendant.”

“No, Odo. There’s more. Why did he let you, a one-of-kind, go?” Kira took her fingers out of Odo's hair. She gripped his chin, pulling his head down. “And don’t lie to me, Odo, I’ll know. You won’t like what happens when you lie to me. We both know what Dr. Mora is, what he’s like. He’s not exactly a generous man. Why did he send you to me?”

“I have outgrown the constructs of the lab, Intendant," Odo replied. "Dr. Mora said he has taught me all he could, and he is curious to see what will happen if I am faced with real-world situations. How I will grow. I am to report to him regularly with my progress.”

“An honest answer,” the Intendant replied. She released her grip on Odo's chin. “Good. Very good.”

The Intendant sauntered back to her throne, took her seat, and trained her eye back on the box-man. There was so much to consider here, so much possibility in having a being like this in her employ. He said he could take the form of anything he wished, at will. Kira was reminded of the old Bajoran folktale about the changeling prince, cursed to wander the wilderness alone in the form of a big black bear. If she recalled, the story didn't end well for the prince. 

Folktales, however, were for children, gullible ones, and Kira had never been gullible. The reality was she had in her possession a tool, a weapon, a raw and malleable lump of clay she could shape to suit her will. Her head reeled with the possibilities. This shape-shifter could spy for her, could be her creature, and Prophets knew it was time she had someone other than the wilting flower that was Ziyal wholly on her side. Ziyal was sweet, and a dedicated handmaiden, but when it came to intrigue, she was useless.

And, Kira thought, looking at those crystal-blue eyes again, at the fine form and long, lean, lines of this man, maybe there were _other_ things this man could do for her.

Kira rolled her lower lip through her teeth. A shape-shifter in her bed. Now _that_ had possibilities…

Kira huffed a breath and cleared her head. No matter what Mora wanted in all of this, he’d let Odo go. The shape-shifter was all hers now, and Kira did not share her toys.

“Odo, you will send no reports to the lab. I will handle Dr. Mora. You belong to me now. Do you understand?”

“Yes…Intendant....”

Odo's answer was weak, uncertain. Kira’s tone was firmer this time. “Tell me again. Who do you belong to, shape-shifter?”

“I belong to you, Intendant.”

“Good,” she smiled. He sounded more certain that time. “Tomorrow, we will see what we can find for you to do on the station. A job. Will that be acceptable?”

“As it pleases you, Intendant. Shall I go back to my box now?”

“Oh, no, Odo, no box. You are a free being here on Terok Nor, and we do not put free beings in a box. Garak will find you quarters.”

“Intendant,” Garak said, hissing in her ear, “we don’t know enough about him to let him wander alone. You should contain him until we know more. We have no idea if we can trust him. Surely, you can’t be serious, giving him quarters—“

“ _Can’t_?” the Intendant spat. “What, Garak, have I told you about using that word?”

Garak took a breath and drew himself straight. “Of course, Intendant. I only meant—"

“I know what you meant, Garak, and your intentions are not unappreciated. Now, leave me, and take Odo to his new home.”

“As you wish, Intendant," Garak replied and bowed his exit.

Kira watched as Garak ushered the shape-shifter from the room. As soon as they were gone, she called for more wine and a data pad. She was going to start reading what Dr. Mora sent her and see just what methods Dr. Mora had used to sculpt this lump of clay his way. She would see how they would play to her advantage when she became the artist. She also had Ziyal take the black lacquered box and the control and put them away for safe keeping. Just in case.

As it turned out, however, even the Intendant of Bajor sorely misjudged just what shape Odo would take on Terok Nor.

 

 


	2. Shifter

Three years had passed since Odo had arrived on Terok Nor, and even Elim Garak had reached the limit of his patience. Three full years of dealing with that shifter on his security force were enough.

On that fateful shuttle trip back to Terok Nor with Dr. Mora's pet, Garak had read over the information Dr. Mora had provided. Garak grew increasingly resentful of the position the doctor had put him in as he poured through page after page of scientific data and mucked through the jargon in the report. He needed to be quite sure that the doctor hadn’t omitted some ominous detail about this creature he had forced into Garak’s custody. If the doctor had indeed lied and handed Garak something that was dangerous, Garak would find out. He had his own skin to think about, after all, forget the Intendant. Garak had no wish to die because of a mad man’s whim and was prepared to jettison the box into space if he read anything he didn’t like.

However, Dr. Mora’s report had painted nothing more than a cold, clear picture of scientific study. There was nothing troublesome in the shifter’s history. It had lived for forty years, as it stated, in the lab’s control, enduring one test after another, and through all that time, there was no history of violence. Well, except one minor incident.

Once, and only once, the creature had raged against its confinement. After a particularly painful series of experiments, the shifter had broken containment, attacked one of the scientists that was torturing it, and crawled into the air reclamation system, refusing to come out. It took them three days to find the shifter and contain it again, and the shifter was punished for its outburst, although the report did not say how. Garak wished it had. That would have been _very_ useful information.

Garak also decided as he skimmed through screen after screen on his PADD that those scientists should be grateful the incident was singular. There were over two thousand pages of charts and data and text regarding what they’d done to the shifter over the years, and none of it was pleasant. Obviously, Garak concluded, this shifter was feeble, was lacking free will or intelligence to endure so much for so long without retaliating. Or, it was incredibly resilient.

In the end, Garak decided not to dump his cargo. Conclusively, the risks were less than the benefits. Garak decided that this shifter, this pile of nasty goo the doctor had wrapped in its fancy box, would indeed be a perfect presentation for the Intendant. The gift was from Dr. Mora, but the Intendant would give the credit to Garak. After all, who was it that gave her the box? The woman had the attention span of Malisian flea, and just like a Malisian flea, was attracted to fresh blood. She loved anything new, anything shiny, especially if it was rare or unusual. Over the years, Garak had spent much of his valuable time looking for trinkets to keep Kira distracted. Half of the body servants in her employ had been hand-selected by Garak himself to gain her favor and keep her attentions away from what was actually happening on Terok Nor, right under her wrinkled Bajoran nose.

So far, most of Garak’s distracting trinkets were a success. He was getting away with bloody murder, quite literally, and the Intendant had remained blissfully, self-indulgently, clueless to it all.

That was, until she met the shifter, and kept him not for herself as expected, but foisted him onto Garak instead.

At first, the Intendant wisely decided to assign the shifter humble work, simple, low-security tasks like cleaning, maintenance, and the like. The shifter accepted his lot, performing his work efficiently and well, and never complained. The shifter proved a willingness to take orders and follow them through, no matter what they were. After a sufficient time in which the shifter had neither murdered anyone in their sleep, or tried to blow up the station, the Intendant decided the shifter was worthy of more complicated work. She had, in fact, decided he was fit for Garak’s security force, and when she’d announced it, Garak had been most displeased.

Garak’s security force was comprised of a mixed crew of Bajorans, Klingons, and Cardassians, all loyal members of the Alliance Militia. They were even more loyal to Garak, a fact Garak had painstakingly and at great personal expense made every effort to ensure. Every single one of the security force was on the take from Garak’s own pocket. Their militia salaries were supplemented by him to buy their service, their loyalty, and sometimes, to encourage them to simply look the other way. Every one of the soldiers also had a secret of some kind Garak knew they could be threatened with should their loyalty ever waver. Garak knew the real currency of the universe wasn’t latinum. It was information. It was secrets, and all men had secrets. Garak had been raised wreathed in secrecy, his very cradle a nesting bed of deception and deceit. He was trained from birth by his father, Enabran Tain, the head of the Obsidian Order itself, in how to obtain more of and invest in this vast wealth of secrets and grow it until he was veritably rolling in it.

The son of the great Enabran Tain should have ended up much more than a lapdog to a Bajoran whore. However, despite his skill in the deceptive arts, Garak’s own secrets had been discovered and used against him. Tain had Garak transferred to Terok Nor as a punishment. It had been a humiliating demotion, but a private one. No one but Tain, Garak, and the young man involved knew what it was that enraged Tain so much that he’d cast his only son into the cold to fend for himself, and ended his son’s future with the Obsidian Order.

It was a shame, though, what Tain had done to Garak’s young man. He had been handsome, a lovely man, an innocent who was implicated only by association to Garak. None of it had really been his fault.

So, when the Intendant decided to introduce the unknown element of her pet shape-shifter to his personal army, everything Garak had built, every secret he had stolen, every coin he’d spent, all his careful plotting and planning to restore his glory and take Terok Nor for himself was derailed. Garak knew exactly where the shifter’s loyalties were—with the Intendant,from day one—and there was no sign of those loyalties wavering. The shifter hadn’t any kind of life conducive to secrets, so Garak had no leverage. Odo needed nothing latinum could buy and showed no signs of that changing, either, and Garak was at an impasse. A stalemate. His hands were tied, so long as the shifter was around, and he had to find a way to get rid of him without arousing the suspicions of the Intendant.

Murder, of course, would have been the obvious choice, and therefore, the incorrect choice. Garak was nothing if not careful. He knew that if the shifter got killed on his watch, it would pique the Intendant’s interest and open an investigation of Garak’s domain, and that would lead to real disaster. There were secretive ways to dispatch a life and Garak knew many, _many_ such ways, but none of them would have been effective with the shifter. Odo couldn’t be poisoned. He couldn’t be garroted. He couldn’t be pushed from a height and die of it. He even couldn’t be accidentally vacuumed into space to die of exposure because Garak knew, thanks to Mora’s research, Odo could survive in a vacuum. Odo couldn’t be taken unawares, either, and could defend himself most readily, leaving any explanations Garak could offer about on-the-job accidents implausible. Garak had learned through overseeing the shifter’s security training that the creature was adept at handling just about any situation thrown his way. Odo didn’t even need a weapon, had refused one, in fact, using his shape-shifting skills to full advantage, easily dispatching any threat and ending up the victor in every fight.

So how exactly did one kill that which seemed un-killable?

Garak had decided that patience, as always, would serve best. That he would simply watch and wait. A solution would present itself eventually, but as the years passed, Garak got no closer to solving the riddle. Odo continued to function on the security force, and admittedly well. Garak quickly saw that the shifter was not feeble as he originally suspected. It was quite the opposite. Odo possessed a keen, intelligent mind, a good eye for detail, an impeccable memory, and the right kind of logical detachment that made him perfect for security, especially criminal investigation. So good was Odo getting at investigating station business, that he started turning his eye inward, to his fellow security officers, and started asking Garak one too many odd and carefully phrased questions regarding their activities. Odo's questions were _not_  ones Garak wanted to answer. The shifter had to go, and soon, or not only would Garak find himself without Terok Nor, he might find himself without his head.

So Garak continued to watch and wait, doing as much dirty dealing as he could when Odo wasn't around. However, when the solution to his Odo problem came by rather unusual circumstances, when he finally got that morphing mass of misanthropy out of security, Garak found it didn't give him the satisfaction he thought it would. He was reminded of that old and timeless adage: “Be careful what you wish for.”

Sa’kat Thrax was the supervisor of ore processing for several years before Odo's arrival. Garak once thought that Thrax might be another he could sway to his side since Thrax was a fellow Cardsassian and a patriot, but soon learned Thrax wasn’t worth the effort. The man was good at his job as slavemaster in ore processing, certainly. But Thrax was a blunt, straightforward thinker, and his actions were equally straightforward and blunt. He lacked the fine edge for politics, such as they were on Terok Nor. Thrax never exercised the power he carried as the ore processing supervisor to its full worth. Thrax was content with his lot and didn’t want more. The man was a tool, a hammer, and hammers were not what Garak needed to accomplish his coups.

However, being a hammer served Thrax well in ore processing. That place definitely needed one, and Garak was content to let the man alone to do his job. Ore processing was the most treacherous part of Terok Nor, the conditions difficult, the work dangerous, the equipment potentially lethal in the wrong hands, and it housed the largest group of gathered slave labor on the station. The slaves in ore processing were all able-bodied males. The work wasn’t suited to women. So, it was the perfect place for an insurgency to begin.

And one day, unfortunately for Sa'kat Thrax, one did.

 


	3. Climbing the Ladder

  

When Garak arrived at ore processing with a riot patrol on his heels, the scene was total chaos. The main floor was a battlefield, a sea of writhing, shouting, yelling bodies all trying to bludgeon each other in a primitive fight to the death. Phasers were dangerous in ore processing in the wrong hands, with the potential to strike the wrong type of ore and create an explosion, so the security forces patrolling the main floor didn’t carry them. They used manual weapons only. Unfortunately, it pitted the guards at about equal odds with a group of angry, rioting slaves armed with industrial hand tools.

Garak stood at the main entry door. A riot patrol of security personnel was at his back, and a force-field in front of him, sealing the door and keeping the battle contained. More squads awaited his orders at other points of entry, but Garak didn’t send them in just yet. He needed a minute to think.

Garak watched the battle with his usual patience, nonplussed as a body hit the force-field and bounced off. The man's body smoked and writhed in death throes at his feet, but Garak didn't notice. He was focused on the progress of the battle. Things had gone too far now to send in more troops, Garak decided. They would only be overwhelmed. It seemed gassing would be in order, but that would also take out security. The only gasses they could release here were lethal, again due to the ore. Overall, killing everyone in the room was a vast waste of resources, but it seemed there was no other choice.

Garak tapped his comm badge. “Garak to Intendant.”

_“Yes, Garak.”_

“Things in ore processing are escalating. You are needed. Please transport to my location.”

A moment later, the Intendant materialized at his elbow. She looked at the room beyond and frowned. “Well, you weren’t kidding, Garak," she said. "What a mess. What are we going to do?”

“The gas, Intendant, I’m afraid.”

Kira planted her hands on her hips and sighed. “That’s a lot of lost workers. If we do that, then we'll have to explain the inventory losses to the Emperor. I hate explaining things to the Emperor.”

“Even so, Intendant, I believe we are without options. Though if this continues, there is a high probability it will spread, and the slaves will eventually find a way to take down the force-fields. If that happens, you won’t have to worry about explaining anything to Emperor Worf. We’ll all be dead. We are, after all, outnumbered on Terok Nor approximately sixty to one.”

The Intendant heaved another frustrated sigh. “You’re right, Garak…Damn...I guess we’ll go with the gas.”

The Intendant moved to a nearby computer panel. She began to tap in the codes that would authorize a total euthanasia of the room.

“Stop!" a voice called. The Intendant and Garak turned to find its owner. 

Odo moved forward from the ranks of the riot patrol. “Wait, Intendant, please,” he said. 

“Odo,” Garak snarled, “get back in line! This doesn’t concern you.”

Odo ignored Garak. “I think, Intendant, I can stop this if you'll send me in there.”

“How, Odo?” she asked. “What can you do all by yourself, with all of  _that_  going on?”

It was then the noise in ore processing reached a fevered pitch. All three swung their attention to the battle. The slaves had broken the line to the second level where Thrax had been doing his part to quell the insurgency. The slaves were on Thrax immediately. Garak watched as a mob of insurgents surrounded him, encircled him, and pulled him down to the ground. What they did with Thrax then made even Garak cringe and look away.

Poor luck for Thrax. Most unfortunate.

“Oh, that’s it!” the Intendant spat, swinging back to the panel. “This is over.”

“Please, Intendant,” Odo said. “I can do this. Transport me right… _there_.”

The Intendant followed the line Odo was pointing to the second level. The slaves were still tossing up pieces of Thrax over their heads in triumph, like some kind of macabre confetti.

“Odo, it’s packed. There’s no space.”

“There is. On the rail. Do you see it?”

“You want me to beam you onto the rail? Even if we could get you balanced exactly on it—and that’s almost impossible with all of that going on—you’d fall.”

“No, Intendant, I won’t.”

Garak rolled his eyes. He'd had about enough of this unctuous shape-shifter and his delays. Let Odo go in, let him get ripped apart, too, and then they could get on with their day.

…And…Oh,  _and_ , Garak thought. He’d finally be rid of the damned shifter.

“Intendant,” Garak said, “we should give Odo this opportunity. If he has a plan, it's likely a sound one. I will beam him onto the rail myself.”

The Intendant looked to Odo one more time. “You’re sure?” Odo nodded once, firmly. The Intendant stepped aside from the panel. “Do it, Garak.”

Garak quickly moved to the panel. He transferred control for the transporter to his location. He did a couple of calculations in his head as he looked back at the rail, confirming what the computer told him. He wanted to be very sure he gave Odo  _exactly_  what he was asking for. A slight adjustment to axis and, there…Just right.

_Good-bye, you amber-hued ass._

Garak hit the panel and beamed Odo into the riot.

Odo materialized on the rail, exactly balanced on his booted feet, and much to Garak’s disappointment, he did not fall. The black soles of Odo's boots sank into the rail, stabilizing his position. The slaves immediately grabbed and pulled at him, but Odo ignored it, his legs seemingly immobile, as solid as metal posts. Odo paused, taking a long, assessing look at the chaos around him. Then, he heaved a deep, deep breath.

“YOU WILL BE SILENT!”

Garak and the Intendant both covered their ears as the shape-shifter made his decree. His voice was amplified to an ear-shattering boom that swept the entire room. It carried over the crowd like thunder from the gods themselves, reverberating off the walls, shaking the ground, the equipment, pieces of ore toppling from their carts. After the shock had passed through the crowd, some tried to resume the fight. Odo took another deep breath.

_“I WILL HAVE ORDER!”_

Even louder that time. The sound waves bounced off the force-field in front of Garak, sending it into a sizzle of electric-orange trembling.

To Garak’s amazement, the room went still. Silent. All eyes were trained on the black-clad, imposing form of the shifter, raised high above the crowd.

“Slaves,” Odo began, his voice still too loud, but that horrible boom taken out of it now. “What do you think to accomplish here? Did you think you’d be able to overthrow us and escape? How? On what ships? There aren’t enough transports, and even if there were, Alliance forces would hunt you down and destroy them. You have nowhere to go. Drop your weapons, and give this up!”

The room was tense, taut as a bowstring. No one moved, but there were no sounds of dropping weapons, either.

“I see,” Odo said. “You still think you have a chance to win this… _You. Do. Not!_  Drop your weapons, and surrender to the nearest guard, or the Intendant, who is just outside this room waiting for you to make the  _right_  choice, will flood this room with lethal gas. You will all be dead. Every…last…one.”

Still no movements from the slaves, no sign of surrender. They all continued to stare with fierce eyes at the shifter.

_“DROP YOUR WEAPONS! NOW!”_

Again that terrifying voice, that fearsome rumble through the room. Garak winced with pain. If Odo made one more outburst like that, his eardrums might explode. The slaves agreed with Garak and covered their own ears. They began dropping their weapons onto the ground, one by one at first, and then in whole groups, the sounds of metal and rock striking the floor creating its own piercing din. Garak watched in utter amazement as the slaves did exactly as the shifter said. They surrendered to the guards nearest them, and the guards immediately began organizing them into orderly lines.

Not a single shot fired. No back-up troops. No gas. Just the power of one man's voice had defeated almost a thousand rioting slaves.

 _Most_ astonishing…

Garak got over his astonishment quickly. He took down the force-fields and ordered the rest of his troops in to help. They poured into ore processing, and the room was quickly subdued. The slaves were marched out, back to the slave quarters. More Alliance forces moved in to clean up and assess the damage. Just like that, the riot was over.

As soon as it was safe, Garak and the Intendant crossed the main floor and climbed to the second level, where they found Odo. He was back on the ground, leaning heavily on the rail. Garak gave a snarl of disgust at the shifter’s condition. He looked as if the skin was melting right off his already-malformed face.

 _Revolting_...

The Intendant didn’t seem to share Garak’s disgust. She ran to Odo, reaching out to touch him, but snatched her hand back when the shifter flinched.

“Odo,” she said, “are you all right? Are you in pain?”

“I’m…having trouble holding my shape," Odo replied. "What I did…was taxing.”

“And incredible. Amazing. You shall be rewarded, Odo.”

The shifter groaned with pain and nearly collapsed, catching himself on the rail. “I need to rest now, Intendant.”

“Of course, Odo…Guards,” she called, summoning two to take Odo to quarters.

Garak watched as the shifter hobbled out of the room, the two escort guards flanking him. He turned back to the Intendant. She was smiling as she watched Odo go, her lower lip caught between her teeth. To Garak’s increased disgust, her look was one of… _desire_. All of this had actually turned her on? The  _shifter_  had turned her on? The woman was insane. And insatiable.

Garak rolled his eyes and looked away from the Intendant. This clearly had not gone as Garak had hoped. The shifter should have been dead, it had seemed such a sure thing. After what Odo had done, after getting a first-hand look at what the shifter was  _really_  capable of, and factoring in that secret smile from the Intendant, Garak found himself having to yet again reevaluate the shifter’s worth. His potential on Terok Nor. None of it boded well for Garak.

“Intendant,” Garak asked, “out of curiosity, just how do you intend to reward Odo for such a magnificent display?”

“I don’t know yet, Garak. But it’ll be good. Something big. He saved everyone’s asses today, even yours.”

Something caught the Intendant’s eye then. There was something shiny in the dirt by her boot. She crouched down and picked up a flat piece of decorative silver. She thumbed the dirt and blood away, examined it, and then held it out for Garak to see.

Garak’s spirits sank even lower as he recognized it. It was Thrax’s insignia.

“I take that back, Garak,” the Intendant said, beaming. “I believe I know  _exactly_  how I’m going to reward Odo...”

 

 

 

 


	4. Hell's Hall Monitor

 

Odo stood at the rail that divided the smelting level of ore processing from the pit below, doing his daily job as supervisor of hell. For that is what ore processing was—hell—and he hated every second of being there. Ore processing was hot, miserably hot, and Odo had constant trouble regulating his body temperature. It put a heavy strain on his cellular matrix. Ore processing was also filthy. Rock dust, mineral residue, ash, and soot coated everything in the place, including the rail under Odo’s grip, and Odo himself. Filth was ground into every cell Odo had by the end of the day, and it was an effort, every night, to slough it all off.

Below him was the throng of unwashed, underfed Terran males that worked the ore, constantly sweating or bleeding or both as they toiled at their dangerous work, adding their own blend of organic dirt to the place. The Terrans in ore processing expired at an average rate of fifteen per week, often right in the middle of a task, and all that death left its own dark mark. According to the guards, and the slaves themselves, the place reeked of death. The stench in ore processing was once equated for Odo by an elegantly-tongued Klingon to ‘a diseased targ with iron-black maggots sucking on its rotten bones, roasting over flames of misery.’

Having no sense of smell himself, Odo took his word for it. All factors considered, what the Klingon said seemed accurate.

Six months had gone by since the riot and Odo's consequent promotion. Odo liked his job as slavemaster no better now than when the Intendant insisted he take it. She didn’t call it that, certainly. She called his position ‘ore processing supervisor,’ and it wasn’t necessarily untrue. He was in ore processing, and he did supervise, but what the Alliance officers saw as supervision, Odo saw as abuse, as unnecessary cruelty and brutish nonsense. It all reminded Odo too much of the lab. Mora and his scientists, though they kept their workspace much cleaner than this, were no better than the Alliance guards. It was all the same; oppress the thing that is helpless and in your control, and when that’s done, see what new awfulness you can introduce to keep it there.

Odo should, with his past, have found sympathy for his mostly-Terran charges, and he had. But he was under no delusion whatsoever that nursing it would be good for anyone. If Garak or the Intendant knew he felt sorry for the Terrans, that he didn’t agree with that they deserved enslavement, or that he felt that constantly starving and beating the labor force was nothing more than retaliatory and inefficient, it would serve no one. Odo would lose his position, quickly be replaced, and the Terrans would go on as slaves. Nothing would change for them at all. But for Odo, if he failed to do as he was told, he would end up back with Dr. Mora. No matter the fancy titles, Odo wasn’t much better off on Terok Nor than the people at his feet. They were all slaves to the Alliance, no matter how he looked at it.

Never mind that Odo had become the worst thing of all—a slave who ruled over other slaves.

Until Odo figured a way to get off of Terok Nor, a way to free himself from this misery, he had no choice but to be this ore processing supervisor and wear the mask that went with the role. Odo was sure to play his role well. Odo yelled and cursed at his charges. He kicked and cuffed them. He disciplined them when necessary and he kept them in line, keeping a _very_ tight watch. Remembering Thrax’s brutal end and having no wish to see such a thing again, Odo had let the slaves see what he was truly capable of, his first day on the job. 

As all eyes watched, Odo relaxed one arm to its natural state, forming a large amber tendril. He didn't bother to add any art to it. Odo let the slaves see what he really was, in the raw. He lashed the tendril around one of the loaded ore carts and casually flipped it on its side, spilling raw ore all over the floor. It took six men to put it to rights. The slaves had been afraid of Odo since the riot, but his demonstration added the extra layer of terror Odo needed to ensure there wouldn’t be another one. So far, it had worked. As of yet, Odo had no reason to commit any real acts of violence against the Terrans, for which he was relieved.

Becoming the supervisor had also put Odo in a higher position of authority on Terok Nor. He was now a member of the station's ruling council, reporting only to the Intendant herself. He sat across from a glaring, angry Garak at each staff meeting. If looks could kill, Odo would most certainly be dead by now. Garak hated Odo having any authority whatsoever. Odo liked that Garak hated it. Odo hated Garak just as much. Three years on Garak's security force had been more than enough time to prove that Garak was the most dishonest, slippery slime-devil in the place, and on Terok Nor, that was saying something. Odo knew what Garak was after, knew he wanted the station itself and the Intendant gone, and though Garak was not the only one to want those things, he was the candidate most likely to succeed. And if Garak did succeed, what would become of Odo?

Whatever it was, Odo figured, returning to Dr. Mora would likely be a vacation by comparison.

The Intendant was indeed the lesser of two evils on Terok Nor, and it behooved Odo to support her position and help her keep it. Though it was buried deep and hidden well, Odo knew the Intendant still had some shred of humanity left inside of her. It showed in how she treated him when he first came, and in how she'd treated him since. The Intendant had no reason to go out of her way for him. Not one that Odo could understand, anyway. There was no real advantage in it for her. Odo was, after all, nothing more than an oddity from the lab of a mad scientist, but for whatever reason, the Intendant chose to see the Odo that he really was. She understood that there was a living, feeling being inside his amorphous form. She had treated him as a person. That, Odo could not forget. He owed her for doing that much.

Besides, there was something about Intendant Kira Nerys that drew him. From the first time he'd laid eyes on her, he'd felt a pining, a deep want, that was wholly new to his experience. In the years since, his fascination had only gotten stronger. Odo had never felt this way about anything or anyone in his life, and he both feared these new feelings and reveled in them. And because he didn’t fully understand them, he filed his feelings away and hid them as deeply as he could.

One thing Odo knew for certain about his feelings. If the Intendant ever got wind of them, his treacherous, cunning, gloriously beautiful bitch-queen would twist them around his neck, and hang him with them.

So, Odo danced the steps to the tunes the Intendant played and ruled the ore processing center with a shape-shifting fist. He did his best to stay out of Garak’s way while still keeping an eye on his activities. One of these days, when he had enough proof of Garak’s treachery, he would present it to the Intendant, and it would be fantastic to see just what she did with him. But for now, Odo had no evidence solid enough to present. So Odo watched and waited. He obeyed and he worked. And every night, when he was alone in his quarters, he longed for the opportunity to get out this putrid hell he was stuck in and be somewhere else. Anywhere else, so long as it was clean. So long as all this deceit and deception could be left behind him. So long as the place wasn’t built on the backs of slave labor.

So long as the place had order, which Odo desired most of all.

 


	5. Experiments

 

Nala ducked as the Intendant threw a PADD across her office. The PADD narrowly missed Nala's head. She cringed as she heard the PADD hit the wall behind her and shatter. 

“FIFTY PERCENT! ORE OUTPUT IS DOWN _FIFTY PERCENT_?”

‘Y-y-yes, Intendant, I’m afraid so, I-I, that is, that's what the data…” Nala drew up her arm to shield her face. “Oh, _please_ don’t kill me, Intendant, please…”

“Oh, for Prophet’s sake, Nala, stop simpering!" the Intendant barked. "I’m not going to kill you! After all, it’s not _your_ fault.”

The Intendant rounded her desk and began angrily pacing the floor in front of Nala. She stopped short in front of her, and Nala braced herself for the worst.

“Do you know whose fault this is, Nala? I know whose fault this is. It’s _mine_ , Nala. I appointed that damned shape-shifter to ore processing in the first place. I’ve got to do something about this, now! Fifty percent! Do you know how much latinum that is? Out of _my pocket_?"

Nala, used to such outbursts and accustomed to dealing with the Intendant in a rage, knew exactly how much. She had the figures. But she knew better than to say anything. She kept her mouth buttoned, eyes on the floor.

The Intendant resumed her pacing. “What to do, Nala, what to do?…I like the shifter where he is; I don’t want to demote him. Odo's so useful, and he's blessedly hard to kill, unlike Thrax, but we have to get Odo to do things our way. He’s too soft on the Terrans, I know he is, I’ve had him watched. I’ve watched and watched…”

The Intendant suddenly stopped pacing and grinned at her secretary. The grin stretched wider, and she gripped Nala’s shoulders, shaking her a little. Then the Intendant began to laugh, a full, deep-throated and seductive sound that poured richly from her perfect mouth.

The Intendant laughing like that spoke even greater doom than the Intendant angry. Nala cringed again, turning her head to the side.

“Ah, Nala,” she breathed. “I know _exactly_ what I'm going to do. Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. I have a little experiment to run…”

 

As the Intendant left her office and returned to her chambers, she thought over just how she was going to conduct her little experiment. She had, unlike Garak, read Dr. Mora’s profile in full, and knew more about the shifter than he would want her to know. There were many methods that could be applied to hurt the shifter physically and control him, but from the start, Kira knew those methods had to be rejected. What usefulness would there be in applying more pain to someone who had already endured so much, for so long? Kira had decided the carrot instead of the stick would be much more effective with her box-man. And, for the last three years, the carrot had worked.

Odo had his freedom, thanks to her. He had independence. She’d allowed no one to disparage his racial uniqueness. She had shown interest in his opinions, had befriended him and had gone so far as to display a doting affection for him. She had even given him power. All her little kindnesses in making Odo feel at home on Terok Nor had worked, he had flourished, he was loyal to her, but still, he wasn’t entirely hers. She was missing that final thing, that last critical piece of the puzzle. What was it that Odo desired most of all? If she answered that question and got it for him, she would finally own Odo completely.

The Intendant knew everyone had a price. Everyone had something they wanted, a desire, a need, a love of some kind that could be exploited. She had spent her whole career, had obtained her power, by carefully collecting those needs for others and thereby getting what _she_ wanted most. But Odo had shown no signs of needing anything. At all. And for three years, the Intendant had watched for it. She had waited. She had sent her little spiders out to spy for her, having them observe the shifter on and off-duty to see what they could see. Their information had, to date, been uninformative.

Every day was the same for Odo. The shifter performed his duties, retired to his quarters, and spent almost no time anywhere else on Terok Nor. No one came to visit him, no women or men. Kira monitored his personal comm herself, and it had never been used for anything but business. Occasionally, he was known to use the holosuites for exercise. He read voraciously. Sometimes he took long walks. Other than that, in three years, the Intendant had discovered nothing more about him. And all of it was useless.

The only other thing Kira knew is that Odo harbored a slight sympathy for his Terran charges. She'd hoped it would change once he worked with them directly and saw them for the deceitful slugs they were. So far, Odo hadn't changed his mind. He lacked the cruel, hard hand he needed to rule properly over the slaves and get her the results she needed. Kira knew that had everything to do with his past. But that could be changed. Cruelty could be cultivated, especially with a past like Odo's. If the shifter wanted to keep his freedom, and Kira wanted to keep her shifter, she had to find a way to buy him, bring out the potential she saw in him, and though he may never understand it, save him from himself.

After three years of careful spying and information gathering, it was ironically Odo himself that had given the Intendant the clue she needed. During prior year’s annual death-ball playoffs, a highly anticipated event that the entire free station attended, Kira had got the slightest glimpse, the smallest peek at what it was the shifter wanted most. To this date, however, she still hadn't decided whether she should give it to him. 

Kira had been standing in her personal box in the holo-stadium, Garak and Odo seated behind her. She was leaning precariously over the ledge of her second-level view. The last round of the game played out below, and Kira was yelling and cheering enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd. The game was especially good as it was especially brutal, both players nearly bludgeoned to death, but both still hanging in the game. It was anyone’s call at that point who would win. But things, as often did with death-ball matches, quickly went sour.

Player one made a lethal, cunning move to end the game. It worked. Player two dropped dead on the spot of a blow to the head. But the move was illegal, and the ref missed what the entire stadium had managed to see, and had promptly declared a winner. The cheers of an enthusiastic crowd quickly turned to the shouts and curses of an angry mob. Death-ball was the only thing in the universe that was actually fair, and it was a defilement to declare a cheat a winner. The mob surged on the ring and player one and the ref were quickly overwhelmed, their gruesome screams rising above the din as the mob trampled them. The mob's angry energy, the bloodlust in the air, quickly infected the whole stadium, and before she knew it, the Intendant had another full riot on her hands.

Kira's guard moved immediately to part the mob, their riot shields up, creating safe passage for her out of the stadium. Kira turned to follow the shield line out. The seething press of fighting bodies spilled over into her box, cutting her off from Garak and Odo and the guards. Before she had a chance to fight her way out, someone struck her from the side and Kira lost her balance.

Kira's stomach lurched as her arms reeled in panicked circles, finding nothing but dead space as she tried to stop herself from falling backward over the ledge. The chaos around her slowed to a slow-motion crawl as Kira felt herself begin to topple. She wasn’t going to make it. She would fall into the crowd on the first level and be crushed in the anarchy below.

It was then that Odo saved her. He threw out his arm, extending it, wrapping an amber tendril around her waist and plucking her from the ledge. He lifted her up and over the bodies blocking her path. He pulled Kira to him and gathered her against his chest, cradling her in his arms like a child. Kira clung to him desperately, hiding her face against his neck as relieved tears welled in her eyes. Odo's hand protected her head and he turned to the shield line, Garak falling in behind them. Garak shouted at the guards to _move!_ The guards pressed forward, beating back and shoving down the crazed bodies, plowing the rioters over, cutting a ruthless path to the door until they were all safe, and free of the stadium.

Odo shoved passed the guards, still carrying Kira, rushing her down the hall. She had no idea where Odo planned to take her, but he needed to stop. She couldn’t leave, she had to get her station under control. Kira wriggled in his arms, but Odo showed no sign he noticed, staring blindly ahead as he tried to take her away.

Kira bunched the collar of his uniform in her fist, deliberately hurting him. “Odo, stop! Now! I have to get to a computer panel!”

Odo stopped short and looked down at her. No expression was there, no emotion, but Kira felt him squeeze her even tighter to his chest.

“Odo, put me down,” she said. “I have to release the gas.”

“Yes, Intendant,” he said woodenly. He set her on her feet.

Kira ran to the closest panel, entered her access codes, and flooded the stadium with anesthetizing gas. No need to kill everyone this time. It was just death-ball, after all. They would all wake up with better tempers and sore heads, and the riot would be quelled. 

“Garak!” she shouted. “Get back in there, and get this cleaned up!”

“Immediately, Intendant,” he said, and motioned for some of the guards to follow him.

Kira turned back to her shifter. Odo was sagged against a wall, eyes closed, pressing his forehead against an upraised arm. He was obviously a man greatly relieved. Kira took it all in, remembered how tightly he'd held her, how closely he'd protected her, and she grinned. The universe worked in such mysterious ways. Thanks to a bad call in a death-ball match, she finally knew what it was the shifter wanted, what mattered to him, though the price was way out of his range. She had to admire his taste, though. What the shifter wanted was very fine indeed.

But, as the months went on after the riot, Odo showed no sign that the Intendant’s assumptions were correct. She had dropped veiled hints, small suggestions. She had flirted and teased. That crack in Odo's facade she had seen in the hallway had closed, and she had no idea how to open it again.

Until, that was, today. It was time for bolder action. The Intendant was going to be direct this time, no hinting around. She wanted an answer to her questions, once and for all.

This time, the Intendant thought, it was Odo who would do the watching.

 

 


	6. Watching the Watcher

 

The Intendant stepped into her chambers and immediately set her servants to work. She called for one of her favorite body servants, Timox, a tall, blonde, beautifully muscled Bajoran man she’d bought for herself years ago. Timox's guild contract was quite expensive, but it had been her birthday, and she couldn’t resist. Among his many fine skills, Timox was the best masseur on her staff, and the Intendant decided she would indeed like a massage, right now.

She moved to her bedroom and let her servants prepare her body. As they carefully removed her garments, Kira asked Ziyal to call the ore processing supervisor and tell him she wanted a word. In her chambers. Immediately. Odo was to be brought to her presence as soon as he arrived.

Ziyal scurried off. Kira laid herself down on her bed, on her stomach, and Timox began his task. She had every intention of Odo catching her this way, gloriously nude and being pampered, and had every intention of using it to her advantage. A small peek should be enough to throw Odo off-balance, prove her suspicions, and drop his guard while she discussed why she really wanted to see him.

As her servant expertly eased the tension from her body, Kira lost herself to it, on purpose. They were very literal creatures, her servants, trained to be that way, and no one had said anything about interrupting Kira’s massage when the supervisor arrived. Only that they were to bring him to her. So, as it was, her servants silently ushered Odo into her chambers to stand at the foot of her bed and left him there. So thoroughly was Kira playing her role, that at first, she didn’t even notice.

Blissfully unaware of her visitor, Kira sighed with contentment and enjoyed her massage. Timox’s hands ran firmly up and down the muscles of her back, pressing hard into the tensed flesh on either side of her spine. It was almost punishing, this part of the massage, but it was also therapeutic, healthy, so the Intendant bore it. She winced as Timox found a particularly tight knot under her shoulder blade and pressed, leaning his weight into it.

“Breathe, Intendant,” he gently reminded her.

Kira took a breath and let Timox ease out the pressure point, controlling her exhale, moaning a little as he dug deep into the soft tissues of her back. In the middle of her exhale, Timox’s weight was suddenly gone. Kira cracked an eye, raising her head from the bed, irritated, about to swing on Timox, when she finally noticed they were not alone.

“Odo,” she smiled, her surprise genuine. She used it to lace her next words with authenticity. “That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you so soon. I would have greeted you properly if I’d known you were here. I should get up and….”

The Intendant trailed off, Odo’s stance stopping whatever else she’d been about to say. His form was frozen, stiff, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes locked on her naked body. His face was as expressionless as ever, but in his eyes, in those blue gems faceted deep in that stern face, was the cleanest, most pure and deep-burning desire Kira had ever seen. And it was for  _her_.

This was good.  _Very_  good. Her experiment was showing promise, and Kira quickly decided, with Odo looking at her like that, with her body's response to him, it bore a full study.

“Uh-oh,” Kira said. She looked over her shoulder at her own nudity, faking a bit of chagrin. “I forgot, I’m not dressed. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

Odo didn’t move, didn’t say a word.

“I’ve had such a hard day, Odo, and I’m so tense,” she said. “Timox is trying to fix that for me. Do you mind taking a seat and letting Timox continue while we talk?”

Odo finally looked at Kira’s face. Some of that deep burn left his eyes as he came back to himself. Kira saw his reticence, his disbelief. Was she actually inviting him to sit and watch?

 _Yes_ , she thought, letting a devilish grin tease up the corners of her mouth.  _Oh, yes I am_.

Odo studied her expression, read it. He shuttered his gaze, rendering it flat and unreadable. “No, Intendant,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Kira replied. “Sit down, Odo, please. Take the chair by my bed. If I’m going to be comfortable, you should be, too.”

Odo moved to an armchair by the Intendant’s bed and dropped woodenly into it, sitting stiffly on the edge. He turned his eyes away from her.

Kira smiled wider and upped the ante. “Timox, I think we’ll work on the other side.”

Wordlessly, Timox helped Kira roll over onto her back, oiled his hands, and resumed his work. Kira let herself begin to relax again, well aware of the sight Odo was seeing, pleased by Timox’s efforts, and her new audience. Kira had no qualms whatsoever about being seeing in the nude. She’d never been shy about her body, but what modesty she had possessed faded long ago, when she was named Intendant. Her position required her to have a protective presence at all times. She wasn’t even allowed to use the lav alone anymore, always a guard of some kind watching her do her business, and her last shred of personal privacy had long since vanished. After all, power had its prices.

However, Kira knew where to draw the line. She’d never let any of her station subordinates see her in moments like this. Only her personal guard and chosen servants had been allowed this far. Until now. Kira found it was rather thrilling, having Odo watch her. And thoroughly arousing.

But this wasn’t about her, and she needed to get to work.

“Odo, this feels so wonderful,” Kira said. “Thank you for indulging me. Have you ever had a massage? If you’d like to have one, too, I can arrange it.”

Odo started a little, shifting his eyes away from Kira’s body again. “I…don’t think, Intendant, I would get much out of it. I don’t have muscles.”

“Of course, I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. But you do  _feel_  when you’re touched, don't you? You do feel—mmm, Timox, that’s wonderful—You do feel pleasure, Odo? Like I do? Like I am right now?”

Odo’s eyes shifted to her face, their expression growing suspicious. So quickly on his guard, her too-smart box-man. Kira would have to tread carefully if she wasn’t going to scare him off, and that she didn't want to do. She was growing increasingly curious to see just how far she could take this.

“I do feel, Intendant…Pleasure, that is.”

Timox moved up from Kira’s legs and onto her torso, slicking her body with more oil. “That’s good, Odo.” Timox’s big hands cupped Kira's breasts, squeezing them both and sliding them through, ending with a gentle tug on her nipples. “So  _good,_ Odo…Mora’s report talked a lot about the experiments they ran, but nothing of…other things. Did they ever…oh-oh-oh, Timox, right  _there_ …Did they ever let you have any personal contact?”

“No, Intendant. I was rarely touched beyond what was required for the experiments.”

Kira's eyes snapped open. “Not at all?” she said. “No one ever held you, or comforted you? No friends of any kind? No one ever gave you any… _intimate_  pleasure?”

Odo turned his head to the side, looking stonily away from her. “No, Intendant.”

“Oh, how sad," Kira said, and she meant it. "We’ll have to help you do something about that.”

“Intendant,” Odo stated. “May I ask why you wanted to see me?”

“Odo, no business, not yet, please?” She pouted. “Timox is almost done. Aren’t you, Timox?”

“I am, Intendant,” Timox said. He laid a big, thick-fingered hand on her sex, and brushed her cheek with the other. “Would the Intendant like her usual finish?”

Kira rolled her head to Odo, keeping her smile as sweet a _jumja_ stick. “Odo, dear, do you mind if we do this? Will you wait?”

Kira was pushing it here, she knew it. She was crossing already blurred lines in a way neither of them would be able to come back from. The Intendant had no fear to cross that line herself, not if it got her what she wanted. Odo still hadn’t answered, so she put a challenge in her gaze, a slight raise in her brow. Could Odo see this through, or not?

Odo matched her stare and met her challenge. “No, Intendant. I don’t mind.”

Good. Very _, very_  good.

“Thank you for being so patient, Odo,” Kira smiled. “But Timox, let’s keep this simple. I did call Odo here, and we’re keeping him waiting. We don’t want to be rude to our guest.”

“Of course, Intendant,” Timox smiled.

Gently, Timox slid his middle finger between the folds of Kira’s sex. She sucked in a gasp as he found her little pearl and rolled the pad of his finger over it, applying just the right amount of pressure to the delicate bud. Keeping her audience in mind, Kira threw a little more flair than usual in her performance. She reached down and gripped Timox’s wrist, grinding her hips up off the bed and into his touch, vocalizing her pleasure in short little moans and gasps. Timox was a body servant, born of a long line of body servants, and none of it, not Kira’s extra enthusiasm, or her visitor, bothered him at all. He continued to patiently pleasure his Intendant, professionally and quickly bringing Kira close to her peak.

A finger pressed against her opening. “More, Intendant?” Timox asked.

 _Yes, let's give our guest the full show..._ “Mmm, yes, please,” Kira moaned. “More.”

Timox slipped his finger into her passage, sliding deep, and Kira cried out, again mindful of her audience. Timox shifted his hands so he could pleasure his Intendant fully, still keeping steady pressure on her clitoris, teasing it, as he slid a thick finger slickly in and out, in and out. Kira’s cries weren’t staged at all as she came, bursting in sweet, rapid flutters around him. Timox, ever a show-off, kept still for a moment, waiting until she calmed, and then applied just the right touches to set Kira off all over again.

Kira was sure to roll her head to Odo this time, smiling and biting her lip, and doing her best to keep her gaze locked with his. She realized, through the haze of her pleasure, it had been all too easy to get the attention of those clear blue orbs. Odo’s eyes had been there the whole time, waiting for hers, trained on her face, not her body or what Timox was doing to it. Kira giggled as the last of the happy little contractions still clenching her sex played out, making sure to keep smiling at Odo, keep looking at him. The slightest sheen, almost like sweat, had begun to form on Odo's skin. Kira knew it meant he was having trouble holding his shape.

Oh, this was excellent. _Most_  excellent.

Kira was so intent on Odo and those sky-blue eyes that she'd almost forgotten Timox was there. He drew his hand away, and she remembered herself. It was over. 

The Intendant smiled drowsily at her body servant. “Very lovely, Timox, as always. Thank you. You may go.”

Timox gave Kira a slight bow. “It is a pleasure to serve, Intendant,” he smiled, and turned away, leaving her alone with Odo.

Kira laid still for a moment, catching her breath. She noticed the sheen on Odo’s skin was getting worse as he looked on her glistening, pleasure-flushed body. Kira knew what she needed to know, so she decided to let Odo off the hook. She rose from her bed and donned a light, silky robe that she found draped on a nearby chair, where it didn’t belong. One of the servants must have thought to slip in and leave it, and she made a mental note to be sure they were rewarded.

Kira tied the robe closed. She walked around the bed and sat on the edge directly in front of Odo. He seemed a bit more collected, that telling sheen on his skin gone now.

“Thank you again for indulging me, Odo,” she beamed. “I feel ever so much better.”

Odo’s eyes trailed down the deep vee of her robe, to her partially exposed breasts. His fingers clenched around the arm of his chair. “You’re welcome, Intendant.”

The Intendant leaned forward, letting her robe fall open a bit more. “So,” she said, “let’s not waste any more of your time. I called you here to discuss ore output.”

Odo dragged his eyes away from Kira's breasts. “Ore output?”

“The Emperor contacted me personally," she said, the lie flowing from her tongue, smooth as silk. "He's noticed our recent decline in ore output, Odo. A decline, I must point out, that coincided with your appointment as ore processing supervisor. Now, Odo, I covered for you with the Emperor, you’re new, you need more time, I know. But I can’t cover for you forever. Output has to increase, or…Well, let’s just say the Emperor will be very unhappy with me and leave it at that.” She faked a shudder. “I don’t want to repeat what he really said.”

“I understand, Intendant. I’m sorry. I will try my best.”

Kira pinched her lips and shook her head ruefully. “Oh, Odo. I don’t think you do understand.”

Kira rose from the bed and walked out of her bedroom. Odo followed. She led them both into her main living area. She paused at the bar to pour herself a glass of wine.

“Odo,” she said, faking a sniffle. “I vouched for you today, used my name to protect yours. Do you understand what that means? If you fail, I fail. And if I fail, the Emperor will not spare either of us. We’re done, both of us. You see that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Intendant.”

Kira set her wine glass down and sauntered towards Odo. She ran her hands over his chest, up to his shoulders. He stiffened slightly under her touch, his breathing hitching faster as she slowly stroked him.

“Odo, dear,” she said, pressing her body lightly against his, “you can’t try. You must  _do._  You must get these Terrans in line. I know you don’t like it, but you’re going to have to be harder on them.”

Odo’s skin was starting to shine again. Kira ran a curious finger along his jaw. He shuddered and moaned, gripping her wrist. The Intendant was genuinely shocked as she saw her finger had left an amber trail indented into his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Odo,” she gasped, and she meant it. “I’ve hurt you, I’m sorry.”

Odo opened his eyes slowly, still gripping her wrist. His head drew forward until his mouth nearly met hers. “You…didn’t hurt me…”

Ah. So she’d done the opposite. Good to know. Very good to know. She tilted her head as if she was actually considering taking Odo's mouth. She pressed her hand on the center of his chest. “Odo, I think you’d better go.”

Odo was still, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Odo,” she said softly. “I didn’t give you my permission. You need to let go of me.”

As if waking from a dream, Odo remembered himself and released her wrist. “Yes, Intendant,” he said. He spun away from her and started to go. On his way out, the Intendant stopped him to add one last thing.

“Odo,” she called. “The table by the door. On it, there’s a weapon. I'd like you to have it. Wear it when you’re on duty.”

Odo warily picked up the weapon the Intendant had selected for him. It was a long coil of twisted leather, heavy, thick at the base and tapering to a fine, narrow point. The coil was attached to a sturdy, leather-bound handle.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s called a whip. It's an ancient tool, used centuries ago. I know you don’t like weapons, but I think you need something on your person that will further establish your authority. A symbol of your power. This weapon is old-fashioned, manual, an extension of your arm. It takes skill to use it correctly. I thought it would be a good compromise.”

“And you expect me to use this?”

“Yes, Odo, please. For me. Wear it. Use it. Go to the Ferengi bartender tomorrow. I’ve set up a holo-program that will teach you the proper technique...Remember, Odo, I’m counting on  _you_  to make the Emperor happy.”

Odo looked at the whip in his hand, hesitant. He didn’t want this, what she was asking him to do, Kira knew it. It went against his nature, his very core, and she knew that, too. But he would do what she asked anyway, she was sure.

Odo formed a hook on his belt and hung the whip against his side. “As you wish, Intendant.”

The ore processing supervisor walked out of Kira’s chambers, and she smiled at his back, a devious grin that would have set Nala's knees trembling. Odo would do what she needed him to do from here on out. Not because she’d ordered him to, but because he wanted to. Because of what she’d learned tonight. Because her shape-shifter, her box-man, her lump of clay had feelings for her. He desired her, and only her, and that had been her missing piece.

Very, very _, very_  good.

 


	7. Damn.

 

_Damn, damn, damn that woman! I should kill her myself! Damn that Kira Nerys!_

Odo covered his eyes with one hand, trying desperately to control the shaking frame of his form, trying to keep it from bursting apart and shattering the cage of his humanoid shape in a burst of rage. He inhaled deeply, trying to cool his increasing body temperature, but as usual in ore processing, he only got a lung-full of hot, filthy, unhelpful air. He ran his hand over his hair, trying to buy a little time as he attempted to collect himself. It was a distinctly humanoid gesture, another of the many Odo had learned to mimic to convey emotion, to express a thought or idea. Like the raise of a brow, or the folding of the arms, or an intimidating scowl. Yes, Odo had learned very much about conveying humanoid emotions.

Conveying them, but not dealing with them.

Odo had his own emotions, certainly. Humanoids didn’t own the domain on feeling, though they seemed to think they did. Odo’s emotions affected every cell in his body, all of them at once, no matter how slight they were. His nature precluded that every part of him was all one, all joined. He had to be able to command his cells individually to shape-shift at a moment’s notice, and they were all in a constant uber-sensitive state of synchronicity. When his emotions were this intense, when they revved up to this heightened level, it was all Odo could do to maintain his will to stay solid over the boiling, bubbling chaos that threatened to shatter his matrix. However, with his current audience, letting his matrix fly apart in a temperamental fit seemed…ill-advised.

 _Damn that Kira Nerys,_ Odo thought. He sank down to kneel by the corpse at his feet.

This was Kira's fault. All of it. The blood of the man lying dead on the ground was entirely on her hands. Not that she probably would have noticed. Those hands, those small but strong, deft little white hands that Odo had wanted to take, to hold in his own, were coated red with blood. This man’s death would mean absolutely nothing to Kira. But it meant everything to Odo.

Over a year in ore processing, and his careful record was broken. Odo had finally killed one of his Terran charges. Himself.

Damn.

Odo rolled the man over, onto his back. Odo didn’t recognize him, had no idea what the man’s name was, a fact that disturbed him. If he was responsible for ending a man’s life, he should at least know whose life it had been, though it wasn’t as if he knew any of these Terran slaves by name. It was easier that way when he had to punish them. Odo had learned that anonymity was quite conducive to abject cruelty.

A set of boots appeared in the dirt by the dead man’s side. A metal-and-leather covered toe poked the man’s ribs, rocking his corpse up and then dropping it, a disrespectful gesture of dismissal that threatened to enrage Odo all over again. He followed the boots up, over the legs, the knees, all the way up to the face of their owner. Odo kept his eyes locked with the reptilian gaze above him as he rose slowly from the ground to stand and meet it.

“Well, Odo,” Garak said. “I find myself in the odd position of owning you thanks. You just saved my life. Rather surprising, all things considered.”

“I assure you, Garak,” Odo said through gritted teeth, “no thanks are necessary. It was merely happenstance that these events occurred. I had absolutely no intention of saving your life.”

“Indeed,” Garak smiled. “An accident, and so it shall be noted in my report. No unnecessary waste of Alliance resources has occurred. It was _quite_ necessary to kill this man, and honestly, you probably saved us a penny or two. We were going to shoot him anyway.”

The dead man at Odo and Garak's feet had been rounded up with three other Terrans. The trio had been caught trying to sabotage the heating elements of the smelter, a juvenile attempt, Odo knew, to shut down ore processing and give at least a reprieve to their fellow workers if not a permanent break. It was juvenile, and puerile, considering who their supervisor was. Odo was on to the Terrans before they even cut the power supply. Odo had the guards round the insurgents up and called Garak here to decide their fates. It wasn’t in Odo’s purview to execute his own workers. The Alliance had experienced recent logistical problems in obtaining fresh stock due to rebel activity, and the supply of slaves was being rationed throughout the Alliance. Getting new slaves was not so easy right now, so Terok Nor had been more careful of being so casual with their workforce. Another fact Odo had been grateful for.

These foolish men, however, including the man by his feet, Garak had sentenced to death. No matter the inventory issues, insurgency was not tolerated. Ever. Garak ordered the sentence to be carried out on the spot so all the workers could observe, and learn.

Garak had the Terrans lined up, opposite a firing squad, ready to help them meet their fates when the dead man decided one more act of defiance was necessary. With a cry of, “Freedom for the Terrans!” he broke away from the guard, snatched a knife from the belt of a Klingon, and made a lunge for Garak. So fast had this man been that not even Garak was prepared, and the man nearly had him. That was, until Odo stopped him.

Odo’s whip was in his hand in an instant, the weapon now indeed an extension of his own arm. Odo lashed the whip once overhead in a whirring circle and threw it out, intending to hit the Terran's back with a powerful thrash and drop him. Garak, now aware of what was coming, feinted to the side to avoid the knife, and the Terran feinted with him. Odo missed. The whip wrapped around the Terran's neck instead, and Odo instinctively yanked it back, hard. A sickening snap was heard as the man’s head twisted oddly on his neck. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Odo had been shocked still by his very first murder. Garak quickly took action, ordering the guards to shoot the rest of the insurgents before anyone could take advantage of the situation. When the smoke cleared, and it was over, ore processing hung in a weighty state of suspended animation, as silent and ominously still as the moldering graveyard it really was. Odo moved deliberately forward, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room trained on him as he carefully uncoiled the whip from the dead man’s neck, and looked with growing shame and regret at what he’d done, how he’d lost control...

Damn...

As Odo recoiled the whip and hung it back on his belt, Odo’s shame burned deeper, and then quickly flared to anger. It was Kira who had given him the whip, wanted him to use it. If he’d been allowed to do things his way, this never would've happened. He would have known the strength of his own arm and been able to correct it. Or, at least he hoped he would have been. The agitated state the Intendant was bent on stirring Odo into recently had him in such bundled knots and convoluted snags, sometimes even he didn’t know which end was up. Another reason this was her fault.

Odo’s worst fear had come true. The Intendant, in her infinite skills of seductive deceit, had learned what Odo never wanted her to know. And as he’d feared, she was using it to control him, and damn her, and damn himself that it was actually working.

The Intendant’s first little private performance, the one with that skulking lump of a servant she was so fond of, was only the beginning. The next time she’d asked Odo to her chambers, again to watch, she’d dropped the pretense of it being an accident. She said it was a reward to both of them for Odo’s resounding success in rapidly correcting the problems with ore output. That, to put it bluntly, was bullshit. It was about her, and what she could gain by continuing to parade herself in front of him, dangling under his purely decorative nose what it was he could not have, and Odo knew it. But he went along with it anyway. If he’d didn’t, he’d show his hand, the ace up his sleeve in this sick game of cards they were playing. The ace Odo was saving to protect himself from himself.

During that first erotically-charged session, the Intendant had asked Odo what she thought were the right questions, using the distraction of her body to get the answers she thought it took to gain the upper hand. Odo knew Dr. Mora had sent his report along with Odo-in-a-box, and that she’d seen it, but Odo also knew there were a few things Mora had left out. That much Mora did do for him, though Odo knew there was no benevolence in it. It was Mora’s habit to never give anyone all of his knowledge. Mora did, after all, have his position to protect.

When Kira had asked about Odo’s personal relations, she’d phrased it entirely wrong. She’d asked if he’d known friendship or intimate pleasure, and he hadn’t lied to her when he said no. The question would have served the Intendant better if she’d asked it frankly: Had he ever had sex? The answer was that of course, he had.

Dr. Mora was certifiable, and immoral, but he was a good scientist. He left no possibility unexplored when it came to his unclassified life form, including humanoid sexuality. They’d brought in professionals, going through three women before they found one who could overcome the fear of the lab, and of Odo himself, and be willing to give it a go. Odo had been taught sexual technique through texts and holoimages, so he knew what to do, but he had rankled against this latest indignity. However, they threatened to kill not Odo but the woman if he wouldn’t comply. So Odo put on a show of his own, and let the scientists get their data. Several more times, over the course of a few months. And though Odo discovered he could experience _very_ satisfactory physical pleasure with a woman, intimacy was completely lacking in his experiences, and it was, in the end, not worth the time.

At least not for him. The woman never complained.

So when the Intendant invited to Odo to watch a second time, Odo didn’t say no, though she had made it clear it was his choice, and she meant it. But to refuse would have only strengthened Kira's advantage, and confirmed what Odo had foolishly let bleed through already.

He wanted Kira Nerys, now more than ever. He wanted her writhing in pleasure underneath him with a very specific and artfully sculpted set of his cells buried thick and deep inside of her, begging him for release as he rode her, and for once, he wanted no audience involved. Just her, and him, alone. Odo also knew refusing to entertain the Intendant’s whims would have been to show fear. That, Odo would _never_ do. It was the one piece of advice Mora had given him before stuffing him in that damned black box and shipping him off, and it was a good one.

_“Never show these people your fear, Odo’ital. If you do, they will only find ways to make it grow.”_

During this second session of voyeurism, Odo had gone in with his eyes wide open, and it had helped him maintain more control. He’d held his shape better, held his emotions in check, though the Intendant had put a fair amount of effort into goading him. She had selected a woman as her partner from amongst her private stock of body servants, all of which were exceptionally skilled and exceptionally beautiful, as was befitting the Intendant of Bajor. It had been quite a lovely show watching the Intendant with her golden-skinned and pleasantly rounded little beauty, watching the two woman stroke and tease each other, softly kissing and sweetly tasting all the luscious curves and hollows of each other’s bodies. Quite lovely, indeed, especially when the Intendant took the lead, fitting her sex against her companion’s, rocking them both to a delightful finish.

As the two women lay entwined, basking in their afterglow on the Intendant’s bed, Odo rose from his seat. He asked to be dismissed, making sure to keep his tone flat. Unimpressed. With a little scowl of puzzlement, Kira let him go, and the supervisor left her chambers.

Dissatisfied with Odo’s lack of response, the Intendant invited him yet again for a third session. She’d chosen a male servant that time, and again, put a high level of skill into her performance, but as things went on, as the show moved to its grand finish, the Intendant finally made a fatal mistake.

Kira and her body servant were positioned so that Odo had a full view of every thrust, of every wet-slicked plunge, and it was everything Odo had to keep his seat. He wanted to tear Kira’s man off of her, throw him to the ground, and beat him to a bloody pulp. He decided to leave before he followed through, and shot up from his chair. It was then Kira did the unexpected.

Kira was in the final throws of her pleasure and stretched out her hand, reaching for him. Odo took it, clasping her hand tightly in his. Kira gripped onto him for dear life as her orgasm shook through her, as pleasure wracked and shuddered her body, and her plea for release, the gratitude in her eyes when it came was all for Odo, and no one else.

The Intendant had misplayed her own game. She had broken the wall, and now Odo knew that his desires and his feelings were not, had never been, one-sided. And he had no idea what to do about it. He was, after all, lusting after the Intendant of Bajor.

“Odo,” Garak began, pulling him back to the present, “might I have a word? A private one?”

Odo shook his head, clearing it, and almost refused. He wanted no words from Garak, but the way Garak was looking at him suggested Odo had again foolishly let too much emotion show in his expression. Curiosity beat out dislike, and Odo followed Garak to an unoccupied space away from the guards. The two men watched as the guards cleaned up their mess, removing the bodies of the dead insurgents and taking them away, and had their private word.

“Odo," Garka began, "let’s not mince our words for once, shall we? We both know there is no love lost between us, we both know just where our allegiances lie, and we both know more about our private doings than the other is aware of, or would be comfortable with…Am I wrong?”

“No,” Odo stated.

“You are, I must admit, quite good at this job, Odo. Or at least you’ve gotten to be, and it makes my life ever so much easier. I’ve spent much less time in this foul pit, dealing with its equally foul inmates since you took over, and you are to be commended. It leaves me free to pursue… _other_ interests on Terok Nor. So I guess I owe you thanks again for your unintentional assistance.”

“Get to the point, Garak.”

“My point, Odo, is this. I like you, despite my low opinion of your person, in this pit, with these inmates, keeping order, something I never thought I’d say. I want to see you stay here, if only because it serves my interests. This,” Garak said, sweeping a hand at Odo’s victim, “is unlike you. You don’t err, Odo, you don’t make mistakes, and though I reaped the benefits of your misstep, I cannot help but think they are a sign of things to come if you do not relieve some of the… _tension_ you are experiencing. I am aware things between you and the Intendant have grown complicated in recent months—“

“—How are _you_ aware?”

“A blind man, Odo, could see it, and I am not blind. And you are, you protoplasmic pile, oozing up the wrong set of thighs. Find a way to relieve these tensions. Seek help elsewhere. You are never going to get what you want, how could you? The Intendant will never give it to you, we both know that, and any attempt on your part to obtain what she won’t give will result in, I’m sure, a _most_ unfortunate reprimand.”

“And why in the hell do you care, Garak?” Odo said. “If what you say is true—and I’m not telling you it is—why not let me burn? It’s exactly what you’ve always wanted.”

Garak heaved a deep breath, held it, and released it with a satisfied sigh. “So refreshing, this honesty between us, don’t you think? It is a relief from these sorry conditions around us. But it is temporary, as relief often is. As far as why, well…You are a clever man, Odo. I’m sure you’ll figure it out on your own, but for now, I will only say that my motivations are for me to know, and you to agonize over. I will give you this clue, though… _Care_ doesn’t factor into it.”

With a dip of his head and cold smile, Garak took his leave. Odo scowled at his back as he watched him go, mulling over what amounted to the most revelatory conversation he’d ever had with that viper, and the most confusing one. Honesty between him and Garak posed even deeper quandaries than the lies, because for once, Odo believed everything coming out Garak’s scaly mouth was sincere. Now, Odo was in double jeopardy as far the Intendant was concerned, if Garak was taking a real interest in things.

Garak was also, Odo was forced to admit, right. About all of it.

 _Damn_.

 


	8. Women's Issues in a Pit

_One year later..._

 

Arissa moved along the inner fence that separated the women's slave quarters from the rest of Terok Nor. She idly dragged her fingers across the chain link as she went. Today was an important day, and she was a little nervous. She had to be seen this time, to be noticed, so she was sure to arrive early and secure a place right by the gates of the fence. The only way out of the ghetto was to get noticed, and she had to get out. She had to get free, or she would be here until she died in this miserable place. She would never finish her mission. No one would be served if Arissa died as a slave on Terok Nor.

Arissa was in luck. None of the other women were at the gates yet. She found a very prime spot and slid down to sit, staking her territory. It would be awhile before the man she was waiting for showed up, so she took this brief time to enjoy a moment’s privacy. Normally, the guards never allowed the slaves to sit idle this close to the gates, but it was Tuesday, and the guards knew what happened on Tuesdays. The man Arissa was waiting for would come to gates to select a companion for this Tuesday night as he did every Tuesday night, without fail. 

Arissa kept her head down as one of the guards approached the fence. As further proof it was Tuesday, the guard didn't move her. Instead of punching her through a link in the fence with a riot stick like he would have done any other day of the week, the guard only paused to laugh at her.

“Terran slut,” the guard muttered and left Arissa where she was. He was still laughing as he walked off.

 _Laugh all you want, you creep_ , she thought. _As long as you go away._

Arissa had, indeed, kept her head down where the guards were concerned. They, too, often selected from the women of the ghetto to get their pleasure, and not once, to Arissa’s knowledge, had any of them asked for it. The guards usually took want they wanted by force, and never any compensation or justice for what they took was given. Rape was forbidden on Terok Nor, and if the Intendant found out it happened, the consequences for the perpetrator were pretty gruesome. But good luck getting by the guards to report it.

Arissa waited quietly for a while longer, and soon the rest of the Terran woman came to the gates and joined her. They filed in as ones and twos at first, then threes and fours, and then, as the correct hour approached, in full groups. Arissa had risen from her place on the floor as the room got more crowded to avoid trampling feet. She leaned her back against the fence and crossed her arms over her chest, keeping a stance of casual but ready alertness. The women in the ghetto lived a hard life, and it brought out every petty, low emotion they had, all of them continually tested to retain their humanity, and their unity. On Tuesdays especially, sometimes they slipped. They all of them wanted on the other side of that fence, and a fight or two usually broke out. A couple of women had already eyed Arissa and her prime spot, so she was sure to send them both a deadly stare and convey her will to fight for it.

The hum of gathered female voices was at a low murmur, all of them knowing better than to speak too loudly and push the guards’ tolerance, but still talking as women in a group are wont to do. It all fell to an immediate hush as the sound of marching boots beating a rhythm on the metal floor plating approached.

It was time.

The boot sounds stopped, the women were silent, and Arissa knew the man of the hour was at the gates. She kept her back turned, however, still leaning against the chain link. She had to time this right, had to be careful. Best not show her assets in full yet. Let him look, let him see what else was there, and then she would show him what she could offer him. Then maybe she could finally get out of this nightmare. 

Arissa had spent four miserable weeks on Terok Nor, sent to the station by the Orions. She had spent four years with the Orions, two years longer than she was supposed to. As part of her cover for her mission, she'd insinuated herself into their midst as common pleasure woman and learned the trade. She worked her way up quickly through the Orion sex trade and made it so far as to be the personal woman of a commander. But, when the appointed time came for Arissa leave Orion and move on with her mission, things went wrong.

Arissa's mission coordinator was supposed to have helped her escape Orion, and then posed as her representative and sold her to the right person on Terok Nor. However, he failed to make the checkpoint. Since he was the only one who knew who Arissa was, and _where_ she was, Arissa was stuck. She’d ended up spending two whole years trying to get herself off of Orion another way and get on Terok Nor, but could find no way other than the worst way. Arissa had purposely gotten herself in trouble and was sold as a labor slave as a result. Her planned had worked, but only four weeks in, and Arissa was regretting it.

It was to all the Quadrant a fate worse than death to get sold to Terok Nor, and Arissa's former patron had been angry enough with her to do so. However, her time on Orion served her well in this place. She blended herself into the populace, hiding her face and her body in whatever rags she could get, and kept a low profile. She had avoided the attention of the guards, had avoided the assignment lines where they would give her a duty, and had managed to keep herself hidden in the ghetto. She attempted to continue her mission from there, but it was hopeless. All of the computer interfaces were burned out in the ghetto. If everything her government had done for this mission, everything Arissa herself had sacrificed to be part of it was to succeed, she had to get access to the rest of the station and a working computer.

So far, she’d had no luck. But on her first Tuesday night in the ghetto, Arissa saw a way.

The Tuesday process had at first been fascinating to Arissa, and disturbing. What were these women doing, gathering like lambs to the slaughter, waiting to be selected by one of the station’s overlords for his personal pleasure? It was vile. Didn’t they have any respect for themselves? But Arissa was used to being among pampered—and paid— pleasure women, not labor slaves, so she had taken every second of the Tuesday process in and learned. But it was still a mystery. What was it about this particular man that had turned a ghetto full of slave women into a harem?

When Arissa saw the supervisor for the first time, she got it. Almost. He wasn't exactly handsome, but there was certainly something about him, and in another life, she would have been glad to know him better herself. But this was not another life, and Arissa wanted to get back to her life, desperately, so she kept her hood over her face and did her best to get to the bottom of this mystery. 

But she still didn't get it. 

When that first Tuesday was over, and the supervisor and his choice for the night were gone, Arissa blended into a group of lingering women, listening to their conversation. She introduced herself by a fake name and started asking the right questions to steer the topic her way. She was successful. The women quickly gave Arissa the information she needed.

“Can you tell me,” Arissa asked, “what all of this is about? I’m new here, and I want to understand. Why are all of you so eager to go with that man?”

She was met with stony silence.

“Oh, c’mon, girls,” she cajoled. “It’s just us here. What’s the deal? Does the winner get her freedom or something?”

“Hah! Freedom! Ain’t _that_ a joke!”

Arissa turned to the voice’s owner, a large woman, as tall as a man, the muscled forearms crossed over her chest just as manly. She was an imposing figure, and apparently, a spokeswoman for this hell-hole.

Good.

“So why,” Arissa asked Big Woman, “are you all here? He’s Alliance, for crying out loud. Is it mandatory?”

“No,” another voice answered. “Never mandatory. We don't have to be here.”

“You’re allowed to refuse?”

“Yeah,” Big Woman answered. Then she broke into a rough laugh. “Though not many of us do these days.”

That set the rest of the group laughing.

“I don’t get it,” Arissa said as the laughter died off. And she didn’t. “If you’re allowed to refuse, why do any of you ever accept him?”

“Because he is not like the others. He doesn’t hurt.”

Arissa looked at the ground by her feet and found this new voice’s owner. She was a pretty, dark-haired woman, pale and slight, possessed of a gone-away look, as if her big blue eyes were seeing something far better on the horizon and not the hell she was living in.

A lost one. Arissa had seen her kind before.

“Because he doesn’t hurt,” Arissa repeated, crouching down by the woman. She kept her tone gentle and brushed the woman’s cheek, searching her delicate, fragile features. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you?” Arissa asked.

The pretty woman smiled, and it lit her entire face. She became Angelic Woman. “Yes, once. We only get once. And it was so nice, that once…He never hit. He never grabbed, or pulled, or made me. He was so careful with me, he was gentle. Not like the others...He was so nice…”

“Never mind her, dearie,” Big Woman said. “She ain’t all there anymore. The guards took a shine to her right away with that sweet face, and they did their damage to her, poor soul. One of ‘em was really bad with her, she didn’t speak for months after…Then comes _him_ one Tuesday, like clockwork, and picks her from the group. Imagine our surprise when she actually agreed to go. I don’t think he knew what he was getting when he picked her. So off they went. I have no idea what he did or said to her, but when she came back, she was at least talking again.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Arissa said. “I’m supposed to believe that? One night of sex with the ore processing supervisor of Terok Nor did that? That he was _nice? "_

“We didn’t,” Angelic Woman drowsed, closing her eyes. Her heart-shaped chin was balanced on her drawn-up knees, and she started rocking herself. “He never. He let me sleep. It was nice…”

Big Woman spoke up again. “Look, I told ya, I don’t know what he did with her, or  _for_ her. Only she does. And I know what he is, same as you, we’re not fools. But I can tell you none of the guards have touched Meg since. They’ve finally left her alone, and we’ll take whatever blessings we can get.”

“Yet he dumps you all back in here when he’s gotten what he wants.” Arissa scoffed. “Why is it worth it?”

Big Woman hunched down and put an arm around Meg. Meg was still rocking herself, humming a lilting tune under her breath. Big Woman made soothing mother’s sounds and rubbed Meg’s back. She heaved a weary sigh and looked over at Arissa.

“Judge us if you want, new girl, but it won’t be long before you’re _not_ new girl, and maybe you’ll get it, what it means to be ones like us. We go with _him_ and we get a hot meal, a hot bath, a real bed, and one night feeling like a free woman. Of being allowed to choose. That’s enough by itself. But the guards, they ain’t so eager anymore now that the supervisor spends so much time down here. They’re all scared shitless of the man as it is, but they know he’s in with the Intendant. So there is, after all, a little bit of something in it, for all of us.”

“Hey! Whores! Break it up! Get back to the living quarters!”

All of the women turned to the yelling guard. Unanimously and wordlessly, they began to move on. Big Woman helped Meg up, still clucking and fussing over her, and led her away. She paused and turned back to Arissa.

“One more thing, new girl. Keep that hood up over your face. You’re even prettier than Meg, and I said the guards were _less_ eager. That doesn’t mean not at all.”

Arissa nodded once, and Big Woman and Meg were gone.

As the weeks went by, Arissa continued to ask questions. What Big Woman told her made sense, but not enough for Arissa to justify any of this. The women’s stories—the ones who would talk, anyway—painted for her a picture of a man who was at odds with himself. This supervisor of theirs was split right down the middle, as if on the edge of a crossroads. The supervisor treated every woman he took to his bed with respect, but returned them to the slave quarters the next morning, and more than likely, he worked a brother or son of theirs to death in ore processing that very same day. He wouldn’t be the first overlord to choose from his own labor force—that routine was as old as the hills—but he didn’t fit the pattern, not really, especially in his patience with the damaged Meg. Anyone else would have tossed Meg aside and moved on. Or taken advantage of her in her weakened mental state. They certainly wouldn’t have bothered to show her kindness. It made no sense, in light of Arissa’s experience with these types of men.

The supervisor could, with his position, have had the best pleasure slaves, so why pick from the Terran population? He could have, in fact, kept his own woman. His power alone would have gotten him a woman from any of the free populations he chose. He would certainly be able to afford it. It could all only mean two things: that the supervisor didn’t want the intimacy that keeping his own woman would have brought and that somewhere, buried deep, the supervisor harbored some kind of sympathy for the Terran people. If that was the case, it was a sympathy Arissa could cultivate, and exploit.

And in that conclusion, Arissa saw her opportunity.

“The rules are the same,” a graveled voice announced.

The supervisor was right behind her. Perfect. She had chosen her spot well.

“You will be silent. You will come forth when I call you forward. You have the right to refuse me, and will experience no retaliation if you do.”

The same cold speech she had heard the last four Tuesdays, in the same cold tone. No variance. It chilled Arissa, and she started to lose her nerve. Maybe she had been wrong about the whole thing and these women were all delusional. But they couldn’t all be, could they? And there was Meg.

Arissa decided it was time she turned around. She did so, slowly, and met nearly face-to-face with the black-clad and somber form of the supervisor. He hadn’t noticed her; he was scanning the crowd behind her. His eyes stopped on someone, considering, and Arissa thought she might have to risk breaking one of his precious rules to get his attention. To her relief, he moved on and kept scanning.

Arissa reached her hands up slowly, mindful of the two guards at the supervisor's back and making no sudden moves. She carefully lowered the hood of her cloak. The movement caught the supervisor’s attention. Those penetrating blue eyes were suddenly locked on her.

Good. Very good.

The supervisor looked Arissa slowly up and down. Arissa moved the bulky cloak away from her body so he could see her figure. She knew it was a good one. At least, her clients had thought so, but the supervisor didn’t seem to have a type. Female, of age, and willing were about all she could ascertain of his tastes. Lucky for her, she was the type who was anyone’s type, her figure balanced, her features balanced. Pretty, but not in any marked way. But it was still anyone’s game.

The supervisor took a step toward the fence. “You," he said. “The blonde. You’re new here.”

It wasn’t a question. He stated it as fact, so Arissa didn’t answer.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“About a month, supervisor.”

“And this is the first time I’ve seen you. Why?”

“I-I can’t answer that. I’ve been here with the rest, every Tuesday.”

“It’s not mandatory.”

“I know," Arissa answered. "I was told.”

“Yet here you are this Tuesday, four Tuesdays later, right at the front of the fence. Where I’ll be sure to see you.”

Arissa kept her silence, being sure to keep her eyes down.

The supervisor took another step forward. “You wanted to be seen, so let me tell you what I see. Your dress is worn, but of good quality. Your boots are, too. Your hair has been professionally cared for at some point. A month spent in this place, and there's still weight on your body. In the past, it has been…well fed. Obviously, with such soft-looking skin, you’ve done no hard labor…What have you been doing for the last four weeks?”

Damn. Arissa hadn’t been prepared for any of this. Normally, he looked, he took, and that was it. She had to be very careful here, or not only was she never getting on the other side of that fence, but she also wasn't getting out of this alive.

“I-I was on Orion,” Arissa said. “Before this. I was a kept woman. Now I’m not.”

“And?” he said. “Your activities?”

“I did some cleaning, small jobs. I don’t have many skills beyond what I did before.”

“And they didn’t select you for… _other_ work because of those skills?”

“I didn’t reveal them.”

“Ah...I see...Terok Nor isn’t exactly the right place for a career change. Why didn’t you reveal them, and get yourself out of here?”

“I was sold to Terok Nor by my last patron because of my temperament. I assumed it was reported.”

The supervisor moved even closer to the fence, only centimeters from her face. His voice was a low growl.

“And yet you came here every Tuesday with the rest and hid yourself from me each time. You, I would have noticed four Tuesdays ago, if you hadn’t taken steps to be sure I didn’t. Why did you hide?”

Arissa turned her head to the side and looked down. If he couldn’t see her eyes, she might get away with this lie. “I wasn’t really…ready…after what my patron did to me before he sold me.”

“And now you are, I suppose? Ready?”

_Careful, Arissa…_

She raised her eyes slowly from the ground and up to his. Her body and face were good, her eyes, and what she could say with them, too. But Arissa knew it was her voice that sold the package. It was low, quiet, throaty, and when she wanted it to be, it was a seductive bedroom whisper. And right now, if she didn’t want to get arrested, it had to be.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m ready.”

The supervisor held her gaze for a few moments longer. Arissa waited, tensed, forcing herself not to clench her fingers around the chain link. Was he buying it? Or had she just hung herself?

The supervisor looked her over one more time. He huffed a small breath and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. He had decided.

“Would you like to come with me?”

Arissa hinted a smile, a small tilt at one side of her mouth. “Yes,” she said. “I would.”

The supervisor took a step back from the fence. “Guards,” he called. “This one. Get her out, and dismiss the rest.”

 

 


	9. Anonymous

 

Arissa followed the supervisor through the station to his quarters, staring at his rigid, black-clad back the entire time. She was flanked by two escort guards. The trip was silent and swift. When they arrived at the supervisor's door, he opened it, allowing Arissa to pass first. The two guards took sentry posts outside.

Arissa stepped into the supervisor's quarters and took a look around. She felt more than heard him come in behind her. Arissa dropped her head and continued to assess his quarters, hiding her face with her hair. She made sure not to look too long at any one thing. Slaves, after all, kept their eyes down.

The supervisor's quarters were spacious. At least, as spacious as quarters got on a space station. They were big enough for a small family. She counted three different doors, other than the entry door, bedrooms most likely, or maybe one was a study. Bathrooms were probably en-suite in quarters this big. Arissa scanned the living area and hid a small smile at the welcome sight of his computer terminal. It was a full-size operations panel, not a personal interface, as was probably needed by a busy, high-powered slavemaster piece-of-scum. This was better than she’d hoped, and she took in as many specs as she could without staring. Arissa would find a way to get to that computer terminal some time tonight.

Dragging her eyes away from the computer before she got caught, Arissa continued her assessment. Kitchen, four port windows, large view-screen hanging on the far wall. Good furniture. Yes, very nice quarters. But, Arissa noted, frowning, anyone could have lived in these quarters. They were blank. They said nothing at all about the man that occupied them.

There was no artwork, no holo-photos. A few generic plants lived in corners here and there, breaking up the monotonous gray of the wall panels. Nothing was left lying out, like a throw blanket, or a jacket over a chair, no data pads left on the end tables. No trophies or medals or other nods to valor as most military men liked to display. The supervisor's quarters were perfect, large, and luxurious. And absolutely barren of life.

Arissa shivered as his voice growled in her ear. “Are you satisfied? Do the accommodations meet the lady’s expectations?”

Arissa recovered from that little thrill, looking back to the floor. She knew she had been careful about her assessment, but apparently not careful enough, at least not around the supervisor. This man was incredibly observant, she had to give him that. She made a mental note to tread very cautiously while she was here and turned around to face him.

“I’m sorry,” Arissa smiled, contrite. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just been a while since I’ve been anywhere this nice.”

The supervisor gave her another one of those direct, ice-blue stares and said nothing. Arissa started to squirm, doing her best to hold her smile. Abruptly, the supervisor moved around her, to the dining area. He dropped in a chair and heaved a tired sigh, spanning his temples with one hand.

Dropping his hand, he looking up at Arissa. “The rules here are simple," the supervisor said. "You know why you’re here, but you may refuse me at any time. You may leave at any time. You have my word that nothing will happen to you if you do. Stay out of _that_ room,” he said, pointing at one of the doors. “That other room is for your use, and whether you refuse me or not, you may sleep there for the night. Again, you have my word that I will not trouble you. The food replicator is unlocked, and you may use it. I will wait until you’ve eaten, and you will take a sonic or a bath. Stay away from the living areas. And if you try anything, I assure you, you will not succeed, and the consequences will not be pleasant. Any questions?”

“Yes,” Arissa replied. “How many have refused you?”

He started at that, off-kilter for a brief second, the unique mask of his features cracking just a little. No one had asked him that question before.

“Two,” he stated.

“And how many have tried anything?”

“None.”

Out of how many? What exactly had she gotten herself into? Arissa took a breath, calming the butterflies in her stomach.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, “but I think I will take that bath now if that’s all right.”

The supervisor heaved another heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair, covering his eyes again. He made a dismissive gesture towards the bedroom. “There are towels and such available in the bathroom. You will have your privacy. I will wait here.”

Arissa decided to put the time she'd spent on Orion to work. She needed to fully play her role if her plan was going to succeed. It was time she showed him the difference between a pleasure woman and a slave.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she said. “Talk to me while I bathe?”

Another crack appeared. He wasn’t expecting that, either. Good.

The supervisor rose from his seat. “As you wish,” he said. He followed her into the bedroom, and to the bathroom.

As expected, the bedroom and bathroom were well-appointed, too. Arissa made only a cursory glance at the large, plush-looking, pristinely white and immacualtely made bed. Under other circumstances, she would have been thrilled to know she would sleep in such luxury and would have taken some time to admire it. However, her current mission was to do as the supervisor asked and bathe, and thereby keep him complacent and unsuspecting. Arissa passed the bed as quickly as she could without being obvious and stepped into the bathroom. Her smile of delight at the large soaking tub was real. She was, actually, looking forward to a hot bath. The sonics in the slave quarters were in poor condition and not enough to get truly clean. Besides, it had been ages since she'd indulged in a real-water bath.

The supervisor stayed by the door. He leaned casually against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest and watched Arissa prepare her bath. Arissa set the temperature on the faucet controls and selected a bath oil. The computer promptly replicated a tub of hot, fragrant water. She started casually stripping off her clothes, in no hurry, mindful of who was watching. Her clothes she put in the recycler, not wasting the opportunity to get them clean while she was here, though if she played her cards right, she’d be getting new clothes anyway.

Arissa looked over her bare shoulder at the supervisor, smiled, and then slipped into the tub. She sank herself down fully, all the way up to her neck. She went even further and submerged her head, staying under for a moment to wet her hair and scrub at her scalp. She came back up, slicking her hair off her face. The tub had a perfect seat-back for long soaks, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes as the deep heat soothed her body and eased her tension. The fragrance of valley flowers rose from the steaming water and filled Arissa's senses with its sweet essence. After so many weeks spent in the stinking hell of the slave quarters, this bath was pure heaven…

_Stay focused, Arissa._

She cracked an eye at the supervisor. “You don’t have to stay at the door. You can come closer. I don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, in no hurry, he straightened, and walked across the bathroom. He tapped a panel by the tub, and a small bench slid out from the wall.

“You,” he said as he sat down, “are not like the others. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Are they afraid of you?”

“At first,” he replied. “It’s expected, given who I am. But they change their minds.”

Arissa sloughed her hands through the water, pretending to be focused on their movements. “Do you _like_ that they’re afraid of you?” she asked.

“Like,” he said, “doesn’t factor into it. It just is.”

Arissa reached for a nearby sponge and a bottle of pearly liquid soap. She began washing her body, using it as cover to think. He was opening up to her already; she just had to keep asking the right questions.

“You know what I am,” she began. “What I do. I am, like you said, not like the others…Have you ever known a pleasure woman, supervisor?”

“No,” he replied.

“Pleasure women are not just for sex,” she said. She dragged the sudsy sponge slowly over her arm. “It’s the opposite, really. We're much more than that. We’re trained to be companions, for a night, or for longer, as it pleases our patrons. Some of us are trained in music or dancing, or other arts. We learn conversation, etiquette, entertaining. It is our pleasure to anticipate _all_ of our patron’s needs.” She lifted one leg out of the water and dragged the sponge slowly along its shapely length, tilting her hooded gaze towards him. “So, no, supervisor, I’m not afraid of you. And I talked to Meg. I know you won’t hurt me.”

The supervisor said nothing, his face carefully blank. Arissa held out the sponge, offering it to him, and turned around.

“Would you get my back?”

The supervisor took the sponge from her and moved the wet trails of her hair over her shoulder. He began methodically soaping her back, dipping into the water once in a while to refresh the sponge. Arissa relaxed under his surprisingly soothing efforts. She closed her eyes and arched her neck as he carefully sponged the back of it, lingering at the base of her hairline, making soft little circles.

 _Focus, Arissa, focus_ …

“Why the slaves, supervisor?” she asked. “Why do you go to them?”

“Isn’t that what you’d expect a slavemaster to do?” he replied. “Abuse his own slaves? We all of us, after all, must do what is expected.”

Arissa eyes snapped open and she turned around to face him. All of this was for keeping up appearances? Surely not. There had to be more to it than that, and Arissa needed to know what it was if she was going to convince him to keep her.

“You don’t abuse them,” she said. “At least not the women. I know about Meg, remember? But you do use them.”

The supervisor picked up the bottle of soap and poured a little more on the sponge. He re-wet it and squeezed until bubbles frothed over his hand. He reached out and began moving the sponge gently over Arissa's breasts, using the same careful and soothing strokes as he had before. He kept his eyes on his work as he spoke.

“Everyone here, my dear, is used, in one way or another. My position here is precarious, but I have…needs. If I were to keep a woman of my own, she would become a target. If I favor one slave over another, she would also become a target. On two fronts. I am not so foolish as to believe anyone in this place is capable of loyalty, so I keep no household staff of my own. They could be bought, easily. The only ones who can’t are true Bajoran body servants registered to the guild, and even I cannot afford their contract price…So, I go to the slaves, find one who is willing, and slake my… _needs_.” He traced the sponge slowly from the base of her neck to her chin. “Anonymously. The slaves experience no worse treatment than they already do for being with me.”

Logical, cold, calculating. Absolutely brilliant. And deplorable. What in the world had she gotten herself into?

“So, pleasure woman,” he said, dropping the sponge in the water. His gaze swept her body and came back to her eyes, his stare still direct but no longer cold. “Are we done talking and bathing? Would you like to step out, and see what we can do about _both_ of our needs?”

Arissa found, after this hot bath, that she did, despite her purpose and her loathing, want to do exactly that. Dangerous, dangerous man, indeed. This was, as he’d said, what was expected of her, why she was here, and she’d known that when she’d agreed to go with him. That didn’t stop her from being a little afraid to go through with it now.

Arissa swallowed her nerves, holding a smile for him, and held out her hand. He took it, and helped her up and over the rim of the tub, rivulets of water running down her body and dripping onto his boots. She kept her eyes locked with his, and slowly reached around him for a towel.

The supervisor beat her to it. He plucked the towel off a nearby rack and wrapped her in it. Arissa tried to take it from him, but he knocked her hands away. Apparently, he wanted to dry her off. Arissa didn’t argue.

The supervisor reached behind her, his arms going around her, his body drawing close as he wrapped her hair in part of the towel, squeezing it dry. The rough, black cloth of his uniform scratched her breasts deliciously as he moved. Arissa found herself tempted to see if that mouth, so close to hers now, was as hard as it looked, or if it would yield if she pressed her lips to it. But there would be no kissing on her part. No affection. Pleasure woman she was, and she knew had to sleep with him, but she wouldn’t let herself get intimate with this man.

The towel, and his hands, rubbed her neck and shoulders, moving down her arms. The supervisor was very thorough as he rubbed the curves of her torso dry, _very_ thorough when he cupped her breasts through the towel, kneading them through the fabric. When she was relatively dry up top, he knelt down, and dried his way up from her feet, up her legs, sliding up to her inner thighs. Arissa shuffled her feet, relaxed her stance so that he could get to all of her. He gently padded the towel around her sex, using one finger to tease her inner folds through it. Arissa's body responded with a needy clench, and she gripped his shoulders for balance, biting her lip.

Good God, what _had_ she gotten herself into?

With Arissa mostly dry, the supervisor tossed the towel aside. He was still kneeling on the tile, his eyes trained on her sex. He reached out and gripped the low part of her hips, and tugged her a little forward. He was still for the moment, just looking, brow drawn darkly, as if his thoughts were far away from what he was looking at. Arissa slid a tentative hand up his neck, resting her hand against his jaw. She traced the hard line of it with her thumb. What was he thinking about? 

The supervisor still didn’t look up at her but made a small sound, a huff of breath through his nose. Whatever he was contemplating was decided. And then, he leaned forward, and took her in his mouth.

Arissa’s head threw back, but she stifled her cries, looking up at the ceiling, her mouth a rounded, silent, “oh” of pleasure. Her hands cradled his head, her fingers burying themselves in his soft, blonde hair as his tongue lapped over her little pearl, as he pulled it in deeper in his mouth. Arissa’s breaths came quick and desperate, her heart hammering in her chest. She put her leg up on the edge of the tub, opening herself more to him, still biting back her cries of pleasure as he took more. His finger slid inside of her, and he stroked her gently from within as he continued to use his mouth. She was close, so close already. Her sex began to quiver, flex, it wouldn’t be long.

Suddenly, the supervisor released her and stood. Arissa blinked dumbly as he gripped her waist and spun her around. A hand gripped the back of her neck, firmly but not painfully, keeping her head turned forward. There was something he didn’t want her to see and she panicked. What was he doing? An odd, soft sound, almost like moving liquid, came from behind her, and he let go of her neck. She turned slightly to look back. The black uniform had disappeared, he was fully nude. How had he done that?

Before she had a chance to ask, his armed snaked her waist, and he pulled her against his chest. Arissa reached back, running her hands over what she could get to. His skin was warm, his body lean, long. Hard. She felt his erection pressing against her, and she pushed up on her toes. She bent herself forward over his arm, pushing her hips up and back, and oh, there. Oh, there. There he was. His erection filled her insistently, pushing deep, her sex fluttering rapidly to fit him. He began to thrust in full, heavy swings of his hips, and Arissa was quickly lost, his arm the only thing holding her up. She dug her nails into that arm as his hand moved over sex, teasing her clitoris, and she came quickly, violently, still biting back her cries, but unable to stop one small whimper that slipped from her mouth.

Before she had a chance to think, he pulled away from her. He bent down and caught her knees, scooping her up. He carried her out of the bathroom and to the bed, setting her down on it gently. The supervisor moved over her, pushing her thighs apart, settling between them, and filled her again, a smooth, long thrust that went all the way to her womb. Arissa pinched her mouth closed and arched her neck, still refusing to let him hear her cries of pleasure. 

The supervisor slowed things down then, staying still for a moment, and Arissa finally managed to catch her breath. Blue eyes met hers as he stayed balanced above her, that dark furrow coming back between his brow. Arissa wanted to reach up and smooth it out for him, but she clutched the sheets instead. Slowly, very slowly, he began to move.

Arissa closed her eyes and gave herself to his steady, deep plunges into her body. All of the frantic energy they had before dissipated as he took his time. He built her up slowly again, built her up carefully, thrust by precise thrust, his rhythm never changing. She kept her eyes closed and let her thoughts drift as she gave herself to that rhythm, until it was all there was, until she felt herself quicken again. It came from deep, deep inside of her, and climbed higher and higher as he kept thrusting. Her thighs began to quiver. She couldn’t take it, it was too much, she needed to be released. She reached down between her thighs to pleasure herself, but a firm hand gripped her wrist. The supervisor pushed her arm back over her head and pinned it, his hand locking her wrist down. He did the same with her other arm.

“No,” he breathed. “You will wait.”

Arissa struggled under that pinning grip but quickly lost interest in trying. He was still thrusting steadily, giving her a little more speed. It was agony, what was happening inside of her. The quaking in her thighs spread, until her whole middle was shaking, from her knees to her breasts. It was so much, she was so ready, she almost didn’t want it. And then finally, she burst. She shattered, letting her cries loose, flying up off the bed with contraction after devastating contraction, each of them pulling and jerking her body in contorted throws of pleasure. A fluid rush flooded from her sex, making his thrusts even smoother. The supervisor's hands shifted from her wrists, his fingers twining tightly with hers. Arissa fell back, breathless, witless, helpless, as it went on and on.

He still hadn’t stopped. He was still moving within her, relentless, unending, and oh, so good, each and every thrust keeping her in a prolonged state of ecstasy. Tears burned her eyes as she felt that deep quickening begin again, and she made little sounds of desperation as she shook her head 'no.' She couldn’t go through that twice.

The supervisor released her hands. “Now,” he growled.

Arissa quickly and gratefully put a hand between her thighs, gripping his shoulder with the other as she rubbed her clitoris in rapid, swirling circles. She swiftly brought herself to yet another climax. This time, it was sweeter, gentler, from a different place in her body, though still intense. Arissa was lost in a haze of dopey pleasure as his thrusts got faster, harder. He finally came to his own finish, falling on her body and roaring into her neck.

A few silent heartbeats passed. Arissa was oblivious, obliterated, little flutters still running softly through her sex. He waited with her until the last of them dwindled down, and then gently withdrew from her body. Her hips lifted, trying to keep him, and he shushed the small whimper she made. He rose from the bed and leaned over her, manipulating her languid body and folding it under the covers, tucking them around her. Arissa gave herself to the safe and soothing softness that surrounded her, and closed her eyes.

He ran a light hand over her hair. “Sleep,” he said, and was gone.

Sleep.

 


	10. Pleasure Woman

 

Arissa’s eyes were scrunched closed as she stretched her body, a long, uncurling morning stretch that arched from her neck all the way to her toes. She felt wonderful. She hadn’t slept this well in forever. After she relaxed from her stretch, she thought about getting up, but nestled deeper in her covers instead, enjoying the light weight of fresh cotton sheets against her bare skin. Her stomach grumbled, but she ignored it, not ready to give up her comfort. Maybe she would be lucky, and he would be in the kitchen making breakfast since he was up first. He was always up first. Or maybe _he_ would be lucky and she would make spiced pudding. Arissa made fantastic spiced pudding, and he certainly deserved something special after last night.

A sweet, soft scent from her hair tickled her nose. Valley flowers. Nice, but not her usual fragrance...

Valley flowers. The bath. Oh, no.

Arissa’s eye flew open, and she sat up abruptly, reality hitting her hard. She covered her face with both hands and groaned. She had blown it. The whole thing. The mission. Her plan. All of it. Years of careful preparation, of giving up her life, of letting strange men have her body, all out the window in one night. What had she done? She was a trained pleasure woman, she was supposed to have maintained the upper hand, and she had lost it completely over one good screw with a man she should despise. What, oh what had she done? What had _he_ done to _her_?

_Alright, Arissa, calm down. You’re still here. Maybe you can fix this._

She tossed the covers aside and got out of bed, heading to the bathroom for her clothes. She pulled them out of the recycler, feeling the hem of her dress, making sure the device was still there. It was. The computer hadn’t found it. Good.

As Arissa stepped into her dress, she scrambled through her conversation with the supervisor from the previous night—what conversation there was, anyway—looking for her loophole. _She_ was supposed to have pleasured _him_ , had time to convince him to keep her, had hours of the night in which to accomplish this, and when he fell asleep, she was supposed to have crept out into the living area and planted the device on his computer. Now, Arissa had probably minutes before she was kicked out of here and sent back to the ghetto, where she’d have to start all over again. She could use the guards, true, they would be easy to persuade, but they couldn’t get her where she needed to be, and besides, they were brutes, to the man. Not much better than common thugs. None of the other ranking officers came to the ghetto, just the supervisor. He was the only way out. What, oh, what was she supposed to do?

She hit the bathroom counter with a closed fist. _Stop it, Arissa. Think._

There were new, never-used grooming tools on the counter. So thoughtful, her slave master, Arissa thought with a smirk. She picked up a hairbrush and used the distraction of getting cleaned up to calm herself. Her hair was a shambles after falling asleep with it wet. She picked at an especially tight not, wincing as her actions tugged painfully at her scalp. When her hair looked more like what it should (so nice to see it clean again), she moved on to cleaning her teeth. By the time she sat on the bench to put on her gray leather ankle boots, she was calmer. More focused.

Or at least, she thought she was. The towel was still on the floor, wadded up in a corner. Memories flooded back to her of what they’d done in this room, of the feel of the supervisor's hands on her through that towel, and her sex quivered greedily in response. Angrily, she stood, snatching the towel from the floor and stuffing it in the recycler before it distracted her further. Arissa straightened the bathroom a little more, burning off her nervous energy, stalwartly refusing to go back in the bedroom where the bed was. The towel was bad enough.

 _Okay…Now, think_.

Arissa eased down on the bench again and balanced her chin in her hand. The supervisor certainly was a conundrum. And, she had to admit, awfully damned good in bed. Good enough to pleasure a pleasure woman senseless, and if her plan could be salvaged, she’d have to really watch herself around him. But there was more. The conversation they’d had about his motivation for his Tuesday flings floated back to her, and Arissa saw her mistake. Where she’d gone wrong. She’d been too focused on her personal reaction to what he’d said, instead of what she was trained to do, which was _listen_ , not just hear. The supervisor’s words had been cold, logical, his motivations almost understandable and obviously well thought-out, a plot, a ruse for whatever enemies he had in this place. A neatly tied-up package wrapped in a bow of immorality. But there was something she was still missing.

Arissa closed her eyes and listened again, her espionage training serving her well. She summoned the supervisor’s words with total recall.

 _Used…Precarious…No household staff…Anonymous_ …

There. That was it. And the way the supervisor had changed the subject when he realized he’d said too much, and proceeded to do a _most_ excellent job of shutting Arissa up for the rest of the night. This man, this supervisor, was indeed cold. Calculating. Logical.

And lonely.

Maybe not all was lost.

Feeling more her usual calm self, Arissa smoothed the gray wool of her dress and checked the mirror one more time. She looked as good as she was going to. Her anger and nerves added a nice flush to her skin and gave her a bit of a glow. She stroked her neck and turned her head, admiring. Her blush looked a lot like the full flush she would’ve had last night, and she smiled, but then quickly dropped it.

She pulled a face at herself in the mirror.  _Maybe you are a slut…_

Arissa moved out of the bathroom, keeping her eyes off of the bed. At the bedroom door, she stopped short, making one last smoothing swipe over her dress. She heaved a calming breath and stepped forward. She was as ready to face the real world as she'd ever be. 

So much for getting to the computer terminal. The supervisor was waiting for her. He was seated on the sofa, one long leg crossed over the other, resting his temple against a closed fist. He was perfectly still, a statue in unrelieved black, looking forward and seeing nothing. Arissa breathed against a flutter of nerves and moved further into the living area.

“Good morning, supervisor,” she said softly.

Those ice-blue eyes were the only thing that moved, to stare straight at Arissa.

“You may eat before you go. I will wait.”

Arissa didn’t waste this second opportunity to get at a replicator or to stall for time. Wordlessly, she hurried to the replicator and ordered a hearty Terran-style breakfast. After a second thought, she also ordered a spiced pudding. It had, after all, been years. She carried her repast to the nearby dining table and sat down. She began to eat, eyeing the back of the supervisor’s smooth, blonde head. He still hadn’t moved. She swallowed a mouthful of eggs and broke the silence.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, supervisor.”

No response.

“I-I don’t usually sleep so soundly. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Computer,” he called. “Time.”

_“The time is zero-nine-thirty-seven hours.”_

“Oh,” Arissa said. “I’m sorry, I’ve made you late.”

“ _You_ have not made me late,” he said, still staring at the wall. “The supervisor arrives when he decides to. Besides, they are accustomed to irregularity in my schedule on Wednesdays.”

Arissa decided to lay all of her cards on the table. She was running out of time.

“It could change, you know. All of this.”

A slight turn of his head showed he was listening.

“Your Wednesdays,” she said, “they could change. Your Tuesdays, too. I could stay if you wanted me to. I would be willing to be yours, permanently.”

The supervisor turned back to the wall again, and Arissa got stone-cold silence. No reaction at all. It would have been better if he’d at least turned and yelled at her, or made fun of her, or something. Even his anger she could have played on. Arissa had just the right emotional responses ready, knew what to say, how to act, to turn him her way. But she couldn't do anything with this persistent silence.

Arissa couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn't sound like whining or cajoling, so she finished her breakfast. She took her time about it, hoping inspiration would strike, but nothing came to mind. She was briefly cheered when she got to the last and best of her breakfast. Smiling, she scooped up a creamy spoonful of spiced pudding and popped it into her mouth, nearly in tears as the familiar, comforting treat hit her tongue.

The supervisor stood. “Are you finished?” he asked.

She took another quick bite of pudding and set down the cup.

“Finished,” she said.

Arissa rose from the table and followed the supervisor to the door. “The guards will take you back to the slave quarters,” he said as the door slid open. He moved aside to let her pass.

That was it. Out in the cold. Arissa had failed. But she couldn’t, not at this. Everything was counting on her. She threw aside any fear of getting shot by the guards and turned back to the supervisor in one last desperate attempt.

Arissa threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

He didn’t move, didn’t raise his arms, didn’t kiss her back. At least, not really. But there was the slightest give, the slightest yield under her lips. Just the softest brush, the smallest parting of that hard slash of a mouth.

She let him go and stepped back. “Arissa,” she said. “My name is Arissa.”

The supervisor said nothing, only stared blankly ahead, waiting for Arissa to leave. She summoned the remaining shreds of her dignity and turned to the guards, ignoring their knowing smirks. Silently, she followed them out to make the long march back to the ghetto.

As the gates of the ghetto swung shut behind her, and she bore a few more filthy taunts from her escorts, all Arissa could do was stand, and stare. She had failed. She was back in this miserable hole. The ghetto was mostly deserted this time of day, for which she was both grateful and a little sad at the same time. She was glad no one was here to see her in this state, but found she missed the company of the other women. If she stood staring for much longer, she would get beaten, so Arissa urged her feet forward and dragged herself away from the gates.

Arissa blindly made her way to the living quarters, the dark, the dirt, the stench of the place standing out more than ever before, mingling with the scent of valley flowers still lingering in her hair. Arissa didn't cry, she never cried, but she didn't seem to be to be able to choke down the ball of misery that was trying to crawl its way up her throat. Quickly, before it could escape, she found a private corner, slid down to the floor, and, with the taste of spiced pudding still on her tongue, let it go. She covered her face and let out her pent-up fear, her humiliation, her grief, silently sobbing behind her hands. She was alone, no one knew what had become of her. She would serve out her life as a slave on Terok Nor, in this horrible, filthy place. Her people would not be served. Their faith had been misplaced. Arissa had failed, and she would never see her home again.

A pair of worn shoes appeared by her feet. Arissa stifled her sobs and wiped her nose, but didn’t bother looking up. A body settled itself next to hers, and a thin arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“He was nice,” Meg said, wiping Arissa’s tears.

Arissa laughed a little and sniffled. “I don’t know if I’d say he was nice, Meg. But he never made me. And I slept.”

Meg smiled wistfully and laid her head on Arissa’s shoulder. “It was nice.”

Two mopey days later, Arissa was more herself. She discovered an odd solidarity in the club she now found herself in. She had been with _him_ , and the knowing looks and sympathetic smiles from some of the women said they understood. They knew how she felt. She had gotten a taste of freedom, and it had the audacity to make her hope, but now she was back in her slave’s reality, and life would go on just as it always had.

How ironic, Arissa thought, that she was finally getting to know what it was _really_ like to be a Terran slave since they were the reason she was there at all.

Arissa decided trying to take the shortcut may have been her problem. There were other ways out of the ghetto. She could declare herself a pleasure woman and see who else bit the hook, but in a place like this, with her status as a slave, she’d likely end up a common whore. Posing as an actual worker sounded much better, so Arissa signed up for duty and was assigned to cleaning, to some of the lowest of the low tasks as her status was so new, making her own lie come true. 

Arissa's first assignment was awful. She spent sixteen grueling hours doing menial work, too busy and too watched to get to a computer terminal, and too exhausted to care when they tossed her back in the ghetto. Arissa passed out as soon as she found a place to sleep, and woke the next day, aching and starving, only to do it all over again. But she was determined. Arissa had worked her way up before; she would do it again.

So, by the third day of work, resigned to her new plan, Arissa was as shocked as everyone else in the ghetto when a visitor appeared at their fence on a Monday morning. She was more shocked still when two guards sought her out and dragged her to the gates.

The supervisor, it seemed, wanted a word.

Arissa stood before him, looking through the chain link, trying her best to straighten her clothes and her hair. She knew she was a mess. She’d learned it was another way to hide from the guards, but standing before the supervisor, she found herself embarrassed. And unreasonably happy.

The supervisor sent the guards away, and moved closer to the fence, trying to gain them as much privacy as he could.

“Your offer,” he said. “Does it still stand?”

“Yes, supervisor. It still stands.”

He took a breath and let it out, pausing for a moment. “You understand the risks if you live in my household? I meant what I said that you may become a target, possibly of the Intendant herself…And the Intendant does _not_ miss her targets.”

That gave Arissa pause. The Intendant herself? What did she have to do with this? Arissa had another moment of asking herself what she was stepping into the middle of, but whatever it was, Arissa couldn’t worry about that right now. She had been granted a second chance, and she wasn’t wasting it.

“I understand,” she said.

The supervisor looked away from her then, hesitant. There was something else he wanted to tell her, but he seemed to be struggling with it.

“There is something else you should know,” he began. “I am…not humanoid, I'm…not what I appear to be.”

Arissa thought truer words were never spoken. But whatever he was, he was her key out of here, her key to getting her mission back on track.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I will be yours, if you want me.”

“Then… _Arissa_ …Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes,” Arissa smiled, and it was real. “I would.”

And so Arissa became the pleasure woman of Odo of Terok Nor.

Immediately into her new life, Arissa remembered her old one, her mistakes, and began immediately working on her mission. She wasted no time in planting her surveillance device onto Odo’s computer the first time she was left alone in his quarters. The device was undetectable by sensors, comprised of a polymer that could be slipped through just about any security system out there. She had toted it with her these last four years, guarding it with her life. The device was linked to a microchip implanted in Arissa’s brain. The chip was undetectable and would receive transmissions from the device and feed Arissa information directly. The device was capable of decrypting all types information, including access codes, and those, she needed. Especially Odo’s codes. They would give her full comm access, and allow her to begin transmitting the data she compiled back to her government. They would also give her the chance to arrange passage out of Terok Nor, once she had what she came for.

So eager was Arissa that first day, that she had forgotten the warnings that came with the device, to not download too much too fast, or risk brain damage. When she linked to the computer, Odo’s access codes were the first thing she downloaded, and from there, on to other data regarding Terok Nor itself. It was vast, their computer, and fast, so fast! She had trouble keeping up, but she managed to find some very pertinent data regarding troop deployments on the Betazed border and needed to get it out right away. She opened a channel, scrambling the signal first, and made her transmission. When she cut the feed, she felt a wave of nausea and dizziness and started to feel faint. Arissa had just enough time to clean things up and erase her tracks and make it away from the terminal before she passed out.

Odo came back from his shift and found her on the floor. He’d wanted to call the doctor, but Arissa refused. The chip in her head was supposed to undetectable, but there was always the chance it could be found. She convinced Odo it was just low blood sugar, she forgot to eat again, and would he help her to her room so she could rest?

Without a word, Odo scooped her up from the floor and carried her to her room. He set her gently on her bed and took her boots off for her. He stayed by her side as she recovered and attended her every whim, including a trip to the replicator to get her some food. After all, Arissa's low blood sugar excuse wasn't a total lie. Arissa ate everything Odo brought her and fell asleep soon after. When she woke up from her nap, Odo was still there, in a chair beside the bed. Rather than feeling intrusive or strange, knowing Odo had watched over her as she slept felt reassuring. 

Odo's brow knit with real concern as he looked down at her, and Arissa felt a small twinge of guilt over her deceit. In the end, Meg had been right. Odo could be nice.

Arissa used more caution committing her acts of spying after that day. She took her time, collected her data in smaller pieces, made her transmissions sporadically and not at such distance. The Ferengi were filtering some of them for her, which helped. However, getting out of quarters to collect ground intel from the sympathizers she knew lived on Terok Nor was still proving tricky. Her status was still as a slave, and they had no access to anything. Again, Odo could help her. He could release her restrictions and increase her status if he chose, and allow her freedom to more common areas, like the Promenade. With small effort on her part, Odo agreed, and Arissa could finally move around a little.

Odo gave her access to his credit account, as well. He told her to use his funds as she pleased because he never did. Arissa didn’t waste much time doing so, spending it on the Promenade, mostly. Manicures, pedicures, clothes. Shoes. Small but good pieces of jewelry. Occasionally, exotic edibles. She was, after all, supposed to be the pleasure woman of a high-powered man, and she needed to keep up appearances.

It was flattering, the respect Arissa was shown when she went about. The rumors spread fast, as they would in a place like Terok Nor, and before long, the whole station knew who she belonged to. People straightened when she walked by, nodded. Everyone, even the guards, showed her deference. As Big Woman said, they were all scared of the supervisor, so it was in their best interest to treat his woman well. All the attention turned out to be both a hindrance and an assistance to her efforts.

Still, she was a slave, and slaves could only get so far. Arissa focused her efforts on Odo again, building up his trust, being the best pleasure woman she could be, in every sense of the term. His icy, stern supervisor facade slowly melted around her, his stiff and rigid way of carrying himself, of speaking, relaxed when he was with her, and she slowly got to the real man underneath. But still, Odo had his secrets. He never spent the whole night with her, leaving her alone after they had sex to go to his own room. He would only tell her it was part of his nature, the same as why he didn’t eat or had no sense of smell. Arissa accepted his explanations and knew better than to pry, but there were nights where she caught herself reaching over to the empty side of her bed, wishing Odo had stayed.

It was harder than she’d ever thought, lying. It got harder and harder for Arissa as time went on, especially the more times Odo made love to her, and she found herself enjoying it. Not just physically, that was a given, but her heart was starting to enjoy it, too. Arissa silenced it and kept up her deception. She looked Odo in the eye as he filled her, as he pleasured her, as he showed her the secret side of his nature that he showed no one else, reminding herself again and again that he was Alliance. That he was her enemy. It was getting harder and harder to lie, not to Odo, but to herself. In another life, things could have been so different.

But this wasn’t another life. And Arissa had a life waiting for her.

 

 

 


	11. Just Three Words

 

Odo was beginning to change, from the inside out. He felt it, in his cells, deep inside them, each one catching these feelings and passing them on until his whole being filled with them. These feelings were wholly new to Odo. They brought with them hope, ideas, opportunities. The prospect of a different life, and a different future. He’d never experienced anything like them, and when he compared his life before up to this point, he finally understood what it was he had always been missing. And Odo again found he was at odds with himself. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with happiness now that he had it, though he certainly knew who was the cause.

Arissa was the reason for these feelings. She was the root cause of his happiness. These months with her had turned out to be the best in his life.

Odo had tread cautiously at first, not foolish enough to trust Arissa out of the gate. Literally. She was Terran, and that was reason enough for her to turn on him, and try to murder him in his sleep. But she didn’t. She greeted him in the morning, every morning, being sure to be up early enough to see him off. She promised to be there when Odo returned, and she was there, every day. It was, at first, quite odd for someone as singular as Odo to have another person in his space, almost to the point of disturbance. But Arissa had done her best to keep her personal items, her clothing, her books, her hair brush and the like, confined to her parts of their quarters. She was never messy, always respectful of Odo’s need for order, and, she had confessed, shared it. She liked a neat space just as much as he did.

Arissa talked when Odo wanted to talk. She was silent when she sensed he didn’t, though that part of things also seemed mutual. Odo found it quite refreshing to talk with someone about his opinions and feelings beyond Alliance politics or ore quality levels. No one had asked him about his thoughts since he'd left the lab, except the Intendant, though the lab only cared to know his thoughts as a diviner of his sentience. And what the Intendant’s motivations were was anyone’s guess. Odo was a broadly educated being, Mora had seen to it, and Arissa seemed to be just as well educated. Their natures, their opinions seemed to dovetail perfectly, with enough similarities to keep things harmonious, but enough differences to keep them engaging.

They talked of deep personal matters often. Odo spoke to Arissa about his time in the lab in as much detail as he cared to give her. His confinement wasn’t exactly casual dinner conversation, but her quiet nature and her ability to listen encouraged Odo to reveal much more than usual. In return, Arissa told Odo about her life on Finnea Prime, a former Terran colony. Arissa grew up there, had a family. Sadly, her family were all gone now, killed when the Alliance captured Finnea, but she chose to remember how they lived, not how they died, and keep their memories preserved. It had been, Arissa told him, what got her through the dark fate of being captured by the Orions.

The Orion society, Arissa explained, was matriarchal, but in an usual fashion. The males of Orion were controlled by the females’ strong pheromones, enthralled and enslaved for life to their women, but for the most part, happily so. Non-Orion females were a welcome break from the intensity of such a life, and many of higher ranking men kept alien mistresses. So, with her looks, the Orions had plucked Arissa from the wreckage of Finnea and taken her back to serve. Arissa had gone with the Orions willingly because there wasn't really anything left for her on Finnea. Until the end of her time on Orion, she had been treated relatively well.

Arissa told Odo that it took her six miserable months to get over the nausea and headaches non-Orion females experienced when living on their planet. All those potent pheromones floating around were nearly toxic to outsiders.

Arissa chuckled and said, “It was worse than being pregnant."

“Pregnant?” Odo asked. “You were pregnant?”

“Oh,” she said, her smile fading. “No, I-I never had a child. It’s just, you know…an analogy.”

A thread of suspicion wound tight through Odo's matrix. Arissa wasn’t easily flustered, but she was now. He searched Arissa carefully, but she quickly recovered. She looked up at him, clear-eyed and smiling.

“Apparently it was a bad analogy," she said. She laughed and rested her hand on his arm. “I’ve never been pregnant, but I’ve heard enough. I lived with a group of other pleasure women for a time.”

Odo didn't say anything, still studying her face, that little thread still twisting tightly. Arissa leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear.

“Odo, do you know how women get pregnant?”

“I do,” he replied, raising a brow at her. “Though it’s not possible with me. I can’t reproduce.”

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from trying,” she purred. “Would you like to take me to my bed, and keep trying?”

Odo, of course, was always willing to give things a proper try when Arissa asked. And, as they spent the rest of the evening making an especially laudable effort to try, Odo quickly forgot about that little thread.

As the weeks passed and turned into months, no other suspicious threads appeared. Odo was starting to develop actual trust for his kept woman. As her slave status on the station was raised, as she gained more and more access to the computer, as she proved—not so much to Odo, but to the others—that she could be allowed small freedoms from their quarters without trying to sabotage anything, her status grew even higher.

Odo decided it was time to elevate her as high as he could go with a Terran slave, giving her the maximum freedom he could. It was the least he could do, even if it wasn’t enough. But to change Arissa’s status, he had to go through the Intendant.

Since the Intendant’s misstep, she'd made no further personal offers to Odo. Kira was just as aware of what she'd done during that last session as Odo was, and he knew, given her nature, she would push him away. And she did. Things between them had leveled out, cooled off, and their relationship had gone back to the mildly friendly and strictly professional one it needed to be. Having Arissa around also helped Odo think a lot less about Kira Nerys.

That didn’t stop Odo, though, from thinking about Kira at all, about those three glimpses he’d gotten, about the possibilities that could have been. He still thought about Kira, even with Arissa warming his bed. If he was honest, there was more than one time where ‘Nerys’ was on the tip of his tongue at the wrong moment, but blessedly, he’d never let it slip. He was growing to care for Arissa and had no wish to hurt her or be with anyone else. But Odo was quite certain that no matter what fate held for him, the Intendant of Bajor would always be part of it, somehow.

Kira had known about Arissa from the start. Odo wasn’t one to broadcast his business, far from it, but nothing got by the Intendant for long. She’d made light mention of his situation, once, and then left it alone. Odo wasn’t the only member of the station’s command that had such companions in their employ, and though Kira admitted she was surprised that Odo had joined the club, especially with a Terran, she would not interfere, any more than she had interfered with his Tuesday visits to the lower levels. It was, after all, the supervisor’s business, not hers, where he got his kicks.

It had been on the tip of Odo’s tongue to remind the Intendant that she had not so long ago been providing those kicks herself. But he wisely remained silent. If the Intendant chose to maintain the facade that she didn’t care—though her eyes and the small pout of her lower lip told Odo that she did—then it was best for all concerned he keep his big mouth shut.

So, Odo went to prefect’s office one afternoon to make his proposal about Arissa. Odo was nervous, but as usual, careful not to let it show. The Intendant had a penchant for unpredictability. The probability of getting shot for asking this request was about as equal as getting a hug. One never knew with Kira Nerys. Luckily for Odo, Kira's reaction seemed to land somewhere in the middle.

“Intendant,” he asked, seated across from Kira at her desk, “I’d like to have Arissa’s status changed to pleasure woman, and ask that she be restored her license.”

“That’s a big request, Odo,” the Intendant replied. “She’s not been here that long to grant her that kind of access. Not, actually, long enough by law. One year is the usual waiting period.”

“I'm aware of the policy, Intendant. Arissa was licensed on Orion for two years before her sale. Her former patron had her license revoked when he sold her. He was angry with her.”

“You verified that?”

“I did,” Odo said. “And the rest of her background. It all checks.”

“Still, Odo. Backgrounds can be faked.”

“I am aware, Intendant, but there are…personal details we have discussed about her experiences that would be hard for her falsify. Especially with me. I changed her status as high I was allowed to months ago, and she has proven she can be trusted. I would vouch for her.”

Kira folded her hands in front of her on the desk and gave Odo a long, assessing look. She knew as well as Odo did that for him to say that, for him to say he trusted someone, was a big step. An unheard-of step.

“Odo, you’re sure?” the Intendant asked. “Really sure about her? Because if I do this, if I override her waiting period for you, my name is on the line, too.”

“I am sure, Intendant. I would put my life on it. I would also consider it a…personal favor.”

The Intendant paused again, pursing her lips. “All right, Odo,” she said. “You’ve never asked me for anything before, unlike everyone else around here. If you want it so much, I’ll do it.”

Odo bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Intendant.”

Kira turned to her terminal and made a few taps to the keys. “There, it’s done. Get her thumb scan and it’s official." Kira looked up at him and smiled. "Congratulations, Odo.”

Odo was about to thank the Intendant again and take his leave when Garak marched through the doors of the prefect’s office. Odo turned in his chair and scowled at him. The arrogant snake hadn’t even bothered to knock. Odo also noticed that Garak's manner was hurried, which was a word Odo had never applied to Garak before. Elim Garak was many things, but he was never in a hurry.

“Intendant,” Garak said. “Pardon the intrusion, but we must have a word.”

“I’m busy, Garak," Kira replied. "Can’t you see that I’m talking with the supervisor? Wait your turn. Odo was here first.”

“Intendant, I’m afraid I must insist. I need you in Ops. Someone is attempting to break the comm lock, right now, just like before, and I need your codes to trace them.”

“Wait a minute,” Odo said. “Comm breaches? What’s this? Why haven’t I heard of it?”

“Because, Odo, frankly, it is not your business,” Garak replied. “Otherwise, you would know about it.” Garak looked at Kira. “Intendant, please. Now.”

“Garak’s right, Odo,” she said, rising from her desk. “I have to go.”

Kira and Odo began to follow Garak out of her office. At the door, Kira paused.

“Odo, I’m glad you finally have something to call your own, really I am, but I have to say this to you.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take some advice from your Intendant. You only get one life. Be careful what you stake it on.”

"Of course, Intendant," he replied. "I'll keep it in mind." Kira turned from him and rushed off with Garak, and Odo rushed back to his quarters.

As Odo left Ops behind, all thoughts of staked lives and comm breaches were quickly gone from his head. He was eager to share his news. Arissa hadn't known he was going to see the Intendant, and he wanted to surprise her. When he arrived at his quarters, however, he found them dark and empty. Arissa had left a message, saying she had gone to the Promenade to shop, and would return soon. Odo felt a bit of disappointment and considered going to find her. She wanted the license as much as he did and would be very pleased he’d gotten it so easily. But, he decided he would wait. The Computer’s restrictions didn’t allow Arissa out of quarters for long, and she would be back soon enough.

Odo downloaded Arissa’s newly minted license onto a PADD so she could put her thumb scan on it as soon as she returned, and moved to the sofa in their living area. He sat down, and he waited.

And waited.

Finally, Arissa arrived, late in the evening. Odo had never turned the lights on, as was sometimes his habit when he was alone. He didn’t really need them to see. So when Arissa walked through the door and called for the lights, she was startled by Odo’s tall figure, sitting silently in the dark.

“Odo!” she cried, her hand flying up to her throat. “You scared me. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I was here four hours ago,” he replied. He rose slowly from the sofa to face her.

“Four hours?” she replied. “I was gone for four hours?”

“Yes,” he said. “Four hours. Two hours longer than the Computer should have allowed. How did you manage that?”

“I…don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Odo repeated. He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “The computer should have notified security two hours ago that a slave was in an unauthorized area, and had you picked up. The computer is not prone to losing time. Where were you, Arissa?”

“I-I left you a message, didn’t you get it? I was on the Promenade, shopping.”

Odo looked at Arissa’s empty hands, searched the floor by her feet. “But you came back from an unauthorized four-hour shopping trip with no bags?”

“I didn’t see anything I really liked...Odo, what is this? Why are you being this way?”

“Arissa,” he said, gripping her shoulders, “how did you get around the time lock? I need to know. It’s important.”

“Odo, I didn’t,” Arissa said, her voice strained. “Please, you’re holding me too tight.”

Odo immediately released her, though he had the fleeting thought he really wasn't holding her too tight. He apologized anyway.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Arissa...It’s just-”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I do. Of course, I do.”

Odo heaved a breath, calming himself. He retrieved the PADD.

“I got your license today,” he said, holding it out to her. “I went to the Intendant and asked her for a personal favor. Arissa, if we screw this up, if you even innocently do something that violates policy, she would take it personally…She would…Well, let’s just say the Intendant will not grant either of us any more personal favors.”

“Oh, Odo,” Arissa said. She circled her arms around him. “I’m sorry I scared you. But your explanation is right there, in your hands. The restrictions must have lifted when the Intendant granted the license. And you know me, I can lose all track of time. I just wandered the Promenade, walking and thinking. It gets lonely, and confining, being here by myself.”

Odo looked down at the license in his hand, feeling an utter fool. Of course. She was right. Arissa hadn't signed the license yet, but what she said was possible.

“Arissa,” he said, throwing his arms around her, kissing her brow, “I’m sorry.” He released her and held out the PADD. “Here, sign this. Then you’re as close to free as I can make you.”

Smiling widely, Arissa pressed her thumb into the PADD. “Thank you, Odo. So much. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied. “This also means that you’re on probation, and that you have to spend the next six months as my personal property.”

“So no different than the last six months,” Arissa replied, beaming. “I think I can live with that.”

Odo smiled, and said, “Me, too. Only now, no more time restrictions. No more area restrictions. You can come and go as you please.”

“Well, right now,” she said, pressing her body close to his, “I want to be nowhere but right here.” She pressed her lips softly on his mouth. “Right here,” she said, “is where I want to be. Always.”

Without a word, Odo took Arissa by the hand and led her to her bedroom. They settled on her bed, and they took their time enjoying each other's bodies. When he finally eased himself into her wet heat, Odo made sure Arissa felt every deep thrust, every slow withdrawal, inch by solid inch as he made love to her. And when she came, that was slow and sweet and deep, too.

Odo rolled onto his back, taking Arissa with him. He stayed buried inside of her as he stroked her silken skin. He felt more complete than he ever had before. And it was then that Odo heard Arissa whisper the three words that in all his life, no one had ever said to him. Three words that could change everything he knew, and turn it inside out. Three words, Odo discovered as they pierced him through, that had more power than anything else he’d ever known in his black and rotted corner of the universe.

Just three words.

“I love you.”

 

 


	12. Kanar

Garak broke the seal on his bottle of kanar and poured himself a healthy measure into a shallow glass. He picked up the glass and rolled it in a full circle, letting the thick, dark spirits coat the glass to breathe them. This kanar was a good year, from an old and respected distiller, and it need to air before it was consumed. Garak smiled as he watched the spirits slide slowly down the sides of the glass, displaying the perfect viscosity for a proper kanar. He was truly going to enjoy this rare indulgence. Normally, Garak refrained from alcohol of any kind. Drink had a tendency to induce a certain loosening of the tongue in most humanoids, a condition which could be fatal to man such as Garak. But, today was special. Today had been one of the best days of his career, a career that was hopefully about to see a drastic change for the better. If the next few days went as well as the last few hours had, Garak was almost certain to get everything he ever wanted by the end of the week.

Garak took his still-breathing kanar to his living area, and took a seat, propping his feet up. It was a seat that, despite it was a simple arm chair, felt like a seat of victory. Garak smiled even wider and checked on his kanar. It had all settled back down to the bottom of the glass, so he took a sip, and was not disappointed when its complex and smokey flavor graced his pallet. It was an excellent year indeed, to celebrate a most excellent day.

Garak’s private party was soon interrupted. The door to his quarters slid open, no chime first. Garak didn’t bother to turn his head to see who it was. Only one person on the station could override his door lock.

Well, it  _had_  been a good day, anyway.

“Intendant,” Garak said, eyes still on his drink, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut the crap, Garak,” Kira said, moving across the room. She was alone. Her guards must have been left outside. That didn’t mean Kira wasn’t still a threat, all by her little cat-suited self. Garak kept half an eye on her as she made herself comfortable on his sofa.

“You know why I’m here,” Kira said, rubbing her temples, “so let’s not play games. I’ve had enough of your little games for one day.”

“Indeed,” Garak replied. “Then would you care to join me in a glass of kanar, Intendant? It is a worthy vintage.”

“You know, Garak, I will take a glass since you're offering.”

Garak rose from his seat. He went to his bar and poured a glass of kanar for the Intendant, though he knew it was a waste of good spirits. Women didn’t have the physical pallet for kanar, especially non-Cardassian women. But, far be it for Garak to argue with the Intendant of Bajor by offering her something less complex for her to appreciate, like Bajoran springwine. He returned to the living area with the glass for his guest, handed it to her, and resumed his seat.

To Garak’s surprise, instead of taking an immediate sip like any other layman would do, Kira rolled her glass in the Cardassian fashion.

“Garak,” she said, as she watched her kanar, “did you really think it was going to be that easy?”

“I’m sorry, Intendant,” he said, “I don’t understand. To what are we referring?”

Kira stopped rolling her glass and shot him an Intendant-worthy glare. “I said  _no crap_ , Garak. The Emperor called me right after you called him, so I’ll ask you again. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

“If you are referring to the charges I was forced to file against you this afternoon, then the answer, Intendant, is no. It was  _not_  easy having to follow protocol and file the charges with the Emperor himself. It pained me greatly to be unable to inform you first, as your loyal servant, but the law is, I’m afraid, the law.”

“Loyal servant,” Kira smiled. “Yes, my loyal,  _loyal_  servant, Elim Garak. So loyal, you attempted to go behind my back and over my head with a trumped-up charge of conspiracy against the Alliance, all based on one flimsy piece of evidence. Obviously, it didn’t stick, since you never got the arrest order you asked for, and I’m still here, in your quarters…drinking your kanar.”

Kira raised her glass to Garak and took a sip.

“Well, such wonderful news!” Garak replied. “Pray tell, how  _did_  you get the Emperor to drop the charges?”

“Oh, well, that,” Kira said, her tone falsely dismissive. “Advantages of living in an imperialist monarchy. Emperor Worf likes me, what can I say? It wasn’t that hard to convince him I had no idea about the rest of your report, because for once, it was the truth. Besides, even Worf felt that calling for my removal over a little rule-bending, like issuing a slave a license before the waiting period was up, was taking the letter of the law a little too far. Actually, you annoyed him with it all, Garak, and now the Emperor does not…like… _you_.”

The Intendant gave him another fake smile and took another sip of her kanar.

Garak was careful to keep his expression in its politely neutral mask. Well, he hadn’t got rid of the Intendant as he'd hoped, though she was correct. It was a stretch, his attempt at having her removed. But sometimes one had to take risks. As for the Emperor, he could care less what that Klingon moron thought of him. His days were numbered, too.

“And the charges against the shifter and his woman?” Garak asked.

“Those charges, of course, stand,” the Intendant replied. “You  _did_  do your job there, Garak, and congratulations on finally finding our saboteurs. It only took you six months.”

“Well, yes,” Garak replied, “though by my report, and by your experiences in assisting me— to no success of your own—I’m sure you can acknowledge the situation was most unusual. The woman was very, very good at her work. And the shifter, to keep up his charade for so long, stabbing us in the back all the while…Though we both know deception isn’t so hard for such a creature. It is how he lives. It’s in his nature.”

Kira smiled as she leaned back casually on Garak's sofa. “Had to have been fun for you, Garak, arresting Odo. I know you two have never exactly gotten along.”

“I do admit, Intendant, I found a certain amount of satisfaction in it. I finally found a way to surprise a shape-shifter. When I told him we already had the woman in custody, the expression on his face was most gratifying.”

It was Kira who kept her expression neutral this time. “The inquest will be held tomorrow," she said. "Unfortunately, since you didn’t come to me with any of this first, and let me handle this my way, the inquest will be formal...By order of the Emperor.”

That gave even Garak pause. A formal inquest was bad news for all concerned. They were broadcast, which meant Garak would be doing his questioning with potentially the entire quadrant watching.

Bad news, indeed…

“Garak,” Kira mused, rolling her kanar again, “I think I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Just so that you’ll remember who your Intendant  _really_  is. That way, you and I can avoid any more misunderstandings in the future. We will know where the other stands, yes?”

A secret from the Intendant? Well, how delightful. Garak was all ears. “Certainly, Intendant, if it pleases you.”

“Do you recall how I got this position?”

“Naturally, I do,” he replied. “You inherited it after the deaths of the former Intendant and the rest of his cabinet. You were all poisoned by two Bajoran insurgents, Lupaza and Farrell. You were the only cabinet member who survived…Now that I think on it, though, that does seem rather... _fortunate_  for you.”

“Yes, it was fortunate for me,'' Kira said. "Because I ordered it.”

“You?” Garak said, genuinely surprised. “You poisoned the entire cabinet? And yourself?”

“I took an antidote beforehand. The poison made me sick, but not dead. Shakaar and his cabinet were planning on selling us out to Cardassia, Garak. They were literally going to take the money and run and leave Bajor to her fate. Our worlds are allies through the Alliance, Garak, but we are  _not_  friends. Allowing Cardassia to take Bajor from us after fifty years of Terran occupation I could not let happen.”

“And you tell me all of this why, Intendant? Aren’t you afraid I’ll use it?”

“You can’t,” she said. “There's no evidence. I didn’t do the actual poisoning, remember? Lupaza and Farrell confessed before they were executed, and the execution removed the only witnesses. I honor their memory still. They believed I was the one to lead Bajor, and they did something about it. Lupaza and Farrell were patriots.”

“Pray, my dear,” Garak said. “I still fail to understand why you are telling me _any_ of this.”

The Intendant held Garak's gaze, her veneer of civility stripped clean. “So you will  _remember_ , Garak,” she spat. “So you will remember I am just as good as you are at this game, and that you had better do  _so much better_  in the future than trying to take me down over a common pleasure woman. So you will  _remember_  I know your secrets, too, and I know how to use them. Did you think I didn’t look into your background? The son of Enabran Tain is a dangerous man, even in disfavor, though I care not about any of that. What I care about is that your father still  _does not_  send his regards. It says so much about how much back-up you can actually call in…I tell you so you will  _remember,_ Garak _,_ when this trial is over tomorrow, however it comes out, what the Intendant of Bajor is willing to do to protect what is  _hers…_ Do you understand me, Garak?”

“I do, Intendant,” Garak replied. “I believe more now than ever.”

“Good,” Kira smiled. She rose slowly from her seat. “I’ll leave you alone to enjoy your kanar. Thanks for sharing it with me. It was excellent. Though perhaps next time, you’ll let me select. The Black Hills distillers are, of course, classic and time-honored. But the Southern Continent still beats them in intensity of flavor.”

“Ah, well,” Garak replied. “You may be correct about the Southern Continent, Intendant, but I always found their distillations a little too brash. The Black Hills makers are more patient about their process, and as you pointed out, classic. And I have always been a man who favors the classics.”

Garak gave her a cold smile as he tipped his glass to her. Kira moved to the door, but Garak didn't bother to rise. He took a large slug of his kanar and let the Intendant of Bajor show herself out of his quarters.

 

 

 


	13. In Holding

 

The Intendant went straight from Garak’s quarters to security. Garak and his meddling had landed them all in a mess, and though Kira convinced Emperor Worf she had no part in what had been in Garak’s report, it wasn’t as easy as she had made it sound. Her judgment was severely called into question for granting the woman’s license early, for allowing her deception to occur, and for taking six months to catch her. The leaks they’d had in Alliance intel recently had been serious, had caused a lot of problems, and no one knew where they were coming from until now. With a place for the Emperor to finally point the finger, he did, right at Terok Nor. Had Garak let Kira do the talking, most of this would have been left out. They would have dealt with the woman and Odo privately, and no one would have been the wiser. But now, her hands were tied. The formal inquest would happen, and the entire Alliance would know their business.

Kira did take some of the blame on herself. She had staked her reputation on her belief in Odo without doing enough digging of her own. She should have listened to her instincts and refused his request, but he was loyal. Or at least, she was pretty sure he still was. Recent events had called even that into question. She was not entirely certain based on Garak’s evidence that Odo wasn’t complicit, and if she hadn’t been so distracted trying to catch the woman, she might have more time to check into her background, more time to see what she was doing to Odo, and now, everything had fallen back on Kira's head in a rain of dark irony.

But, if Kira was being honest, she'd had her own reasons for not looking too closely into the affairs of Odo and his woman. Very personal reasons. 

The evidence against Odo was pretty damning, but it was also explainable based on a manual search they’d made of Odo’s quarters. They’d found the woman’s surveillance device. It was a clever one. They’d have never found it if they didn’t already know where to look. Which suggested again, Odo didn’t know. If he knew, why would they need the device? Kira had checked the sensor logs as well, an important step that Garak had conveniently forgotten, and matched the activity using Odo’s codes against Odo’s physical location. Only forty percent of the comparisons matched. The rest were sporadic, all over the station, in places Odo never went. Finally, all of Kira’s years of spying on him might be put to use.

But still, there was a small doubt in the back of her mind, a small doubt that Odo knew. And if he knew, if he was guilty, she would aim the disruptor at Odo's chest herself. But if it was going to come to that, Kira wanted to be prepared since everyone would be watching, and that meant she had to see Odo first. She had to know. Had he betrayed her, or not?

Kira arrived in security, the guards to coming to attention as soon as she entered. She breezed past the guards to the holding cells, marching by the cell holding Odo's woman without a glance. Garak’s evidence, and the Intendant’s wrath at what she’d done, had already ensured that woman’s fate. There was nothing in that cell for Kira to see. Nothing at all.

Kira stopped at the cell holding Odo. He was quiet, motionless, sitting on the cell’s one narrow bench and leaning in a corner. One long leg was drawn up, the other on the floor. Odo's eyes were closed. He made no sign that he noticed Kira was there at all.

Kira dropped the force-field to Odo's cell. She stepped inside, ordered the guards to put it back up, shield it for sound, and then go away. They did as their Intendant asked, and she was alone with Odo.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m here?” Odo asked, eyes still closed.

“No, Odo,” Kira replied. “I can’t. The inquest is formal. Charges are read at the time of the inquest.”

Odo heaved a sigh and opened his eyes. “A formal inquest? Why does that smack of Garak? However, at least now I know the charges are serious, even if I don’t know what they are. I assume Arissa will be attending this inquest with me?”

“Yes," Kira replied.

“How…is she?”

“Alive. She’s two cells over.”

“Will she still be alive tomorrow?’

“Odo,” the Intendant warned, “I can’t tell you anything, so stop asking me.”

Odo sat up straight on the bench. “Then why are you here, Intendant?”

“To offer you one last piece of advice, and this time, I hope you take it. You’re not stupid, Odo, though your current situation seems to belie that fact. If you think hard enough and look back over recent months, I’m sure you’ll see _where you were wrong...._ and why you’re here.”

“And Arissa? Where did she go wrong?”

Kira’s anger flared. Where did that lying _sleebok_ go wrong? Everywhere, and now they were all paying for it, and Odo still wasn’t seeing it, and it drove her mad that she couldn’t just get this over with and tell him. Damned Garak, anyway, for tying her hands like this.

“Odo,  _Arissa_ is not your concern! She is no longer _your_ _concern._ She is _Terok Nor’s_ concern now. She is _my_ concern!”

Odo shot Kira a warning glare. " _Your_ concern?" he snarled.

Kira's heart tripped. She'd apparently said the wrong thing. Before Kira could say anything else, Odo flew up from the bench, coming straight for her. Kira backed up and hit the wall of the cell. Odo was right on top of her, trapping her between his arms, his face centimeters from hers. Kira did her best to keep her eyes locked with his as he spoke in low, menacing growl. 

“ _Your_ concern, is it? What is this really about, Kira? Why are we here? Because Arissa got what you couldn’t have? What you wouldn’t _let_ yourself have? She took your toy, and now you want him back?”

“No, Odo, I-"

Odo snarled and grabbed her hips, hiking her up. Kira cried out as her back hit the wall. She clung to Odo for purchase, her legs wrapping instinctually around his waist. 

Odo pressed his hips forward, making sure she felt him. "All you had to do is crook that little white finger my way, just once, and I would've been yours. Arissa would never have had me. I would have never looked at anyone else. Garak wouldn’t have had a chance to come between us. But, no. We had to keep playing games, keep leading each other around by the _pants—_ " He ground heavily into her, and Kira groaned, clutching his shoulders. “—denying what we both wanted, and now, here we are. And Arissa got caught in the middle of it.”

Kira wasn’t going to admit it, not with Odo manhandling her like this, not with his temper this roused, but in a way, he was right. In the end, that is what had gotten them here. But there was someone else to blame even more for all of this. Kira matched his glare and hooked her legs tighter behind him, giving Odo a grind of her own.

 _“Arissa,”_ she hissed, “will get what is coming to her, Odo, and it will not be my fault, it will be _hers!_ Do you really think there'd be a formal inquest over my _pants_?" She squeezed her thighs even tighter around his hips. " _Think_ about it!"

Odo hit the wall by Kira's head with the flat of his hand, a low, frustrated sound coming from his throat. His hips began to roll against her in a slow, grinding rhythm. Kira moaned and let her head roll back against the wall. She could feel every bit of him through the thin layer of her suit.

“Kira, let her go. I will answer for whatever thing she’s done. I will stay _here,_ with you. For as long as you want. _Do_ whatever you want. Please, Kira, leave her out of this.”

“I can’t, Odo. The Emperor—”

He slammed his hips forward with a hard thrust, shoving Kira into the wall again. “Don’t give me that emperor bullshit, not this time, you’ve used that line enough. I know he’s not an obstacle for you, not really, no one is. You are the Intendant of Bajor, and you are _Kira Nerys_. You could move the sky if you wanted to."

Odo's grip dug deeper into her hips, his rhythm getting faster, his breathing faster. Kira's skin started to flush, her body beginning to quicken. She was going to come for him, right here in this holding cell if he didn’t put her down, and oh, how she wanted to. But Odo needed to clear his name. And if everything went her way tomorrow—and it should—then she and Odo would have all the time in the world to settle this, whatever this was between them.

But now was not the time.

“Odo, put me down.”

Odo stilled his hips, but kept Kira pinned, breathing heavily into her neck.

“Odo, darling,” she purred in his ear, “if you don’t put me down, we won’t need a trial. I will call the guards back and have you shot with a disruptor right now. I would certainly have grounds. I never, after all, gave you my permission.”

Odo pulled his head up to stare coldly at her. He paused for a moment, holding her gaze, and his mouth made a sudden lunge for hers. He stopped just shy so that his mouth teased softly over Kira’s, and whispered, “As you wish, Intendant.”

Odo slowly let Kira slide back down, keeping his hands on her body as long as he could. When Kira was steady on her feet, Odo moved away from her, back to the bench, taking the same casual posture as he had before. He covered his eyes with one hand, and went still.

Kira ran both of her hands through her hair, trying to collect herself before she called the guards. It wasn't working. She needed to get out of this cell and away from Odo before she changed her mind.

Kira heaved a breath and tapped her comm badge. “Intendant to security,” she said, glaring at Odo as she spoke. “Come and get me out of this cell. I’m _finished_ here.”

“Oh, were you _finished_ , Kira?” Odo said. “I didn’t think we had gotten that far. You were so quiet."

Kira glared even harder at him, and said, “ _Your Intendant_ will see you at the inquest, shifter.”

The guards appeared and let down the force-field. Kira stepped out, and without looking back, left Odo behind to spend a long night in yet another box, awaiting his fate.

Kira spent her long night preparing for the inquest. She wouldn’t let Garak lead this one, she’d do it herself, which he’d probably be relieved about. After all, Garak didn’t care for the public eye. Kira was confident about the inquest. She'd found out what she needed to know. Odo was innocent. He didn’t know what Arissa had done, who she really was. He still cared for Arissa, maybe even loved her.

But there was still someone he loved even more.

 


	14. Becoming

  

The room hummed with a low murmur, a joined resonance of restrained voices kept low, respectful of the occasion, but still talking nonetheless. It was giving Kira a headache.

They used the Ferengi’s bar for formal inquests, both for its size, and how it looked on holo-cam. Kira was on the raised level of the central part of the bar. They had dragged that stupid throne here from her quarters, also for effect, and placed it centered in front of the large red banners that ran from floor to ceiling of Quark’s. Kira had decided, for the Emperor’s further entertainment, to don her formal Alliance cloak. It was a padded gray, sleeveless tunic than fell all the way to the floor, trimmed in red, complete with a silver sash that displayed her insignia. Kira hated it. It made her look like a Klingon.

Kira took her eyes off the crowd and checked the clock above the bar. It was time to start. Kira looked to Garak, who was waiting by her side. She met Garak’s gaze, and he nodded, once. He was ready. Kira heaved one more deep breath and let it out slowly. She was ready, too. She was going to put on the best show she could, and get this over with as fast as possible.  

“Silence!” Kira called. The room fell to an immediate hush. “That’s better...Let’s begin.”

Kira rose and descended the dais. When she was in place, standing tall at the bottom of the stairs, she signaled the comm chief to start the broadcast. The comm chief did some taps to his panel and gave her a nod. They were live.

“I am Intendant Kira Nerys of Bajor,” Kira announced. “I stand at this inquest as inquisitor, jury, and judge, in the name of the Alliance, and the Emperor. All hail Emperor Worf.”

_“All hail the Emperor!”_

“The proceedings will now begin.”

Kira waited a heartbeat, making sure the room stayed silent. 

“Bring out the accused,” she ordered.

Everyone’s attention swung away from the Intendant and to a side entrance. The accused were lead forth. Odo and Arissa were led side-by-side, flanked by security. Arissa was grav shackled, her feet dragging slowly on the floor against the pull of the antigrav emitters on her ankles, weighing her down against any chance of running. Her wrists were bound in front of her in the regular fashion, with cuffs. Odo they hadn’t bothered to restrain, as it wasn’t possible to restrain him. They had a full complement of disruptors tagged on him instead. The pair were lead to the center of the room to stand before the Intendant.

Kira turned to Arissa. “To the woman known as Arissa, pleasure woman of Odo of Terok Nor, you stand accused of espionage and treason against the Alliance. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Arissa said.

“Not guilty," the Intendant smiled. "I see."

Kira folder her hands behind her back and began pacing slowly back and forth before Odo and Arissa. “Not guilty,” she repeated.

Kira stopped pacing and stood in front of Arissa. She held the woman’s gaze for a long moment. Arissa coldly returned it, her head held high. Kira’s hand flew up, lightning-quick, back-handing Arissa across the face. Arissa fell, hard, to her knees.

“You’re lying!” the Intendant spat.

She knelt down and gripped a fistful of Arissa’s hair, pulling her head up and back. Arissa’s face was pinched with pain as she struggled feebly in the Intendant’s grip. The Intendant shook Arissa by the hair, stilling her, forcing Arissa to meet her eyes.

“You were caught,” Kira said, “red-handed, sending unauthorized transmissions from the communication port on upper pylon three. Those transmissions included vital statistics about this facility, including tactical payload, shield frequencies, and current station military compliment. What about that kind of evidence says ‘not guilty?’”

Arissa didn’t answer. Kira shook her again, hard, and Arissa cried out.

“Are you saying that didn’t happen? That it wasn’t you? Are you calling my commander of security, your arresting officer, a _liar_ , Arissa?”

“No, stop, please!” Arissa cried. “It’s as you said! I was caught!”

Kira released Arissa and straightened. “Then how,” she asked, “can your plea be not guilty?”

Arissa's head was hung down, her hair falling limply around her face. Slowly, with difficulty, she raised herself from the floor.

“I am not guilty of treason,” Arissa said, her voice low, but gaining momentum as she went on. “I am not an Alliance citizen, and I never was. You are monsters, all of you, and you must be stopped! I don’t recognize your government! I never will! Freedom for the Terrans!”

The room began its hushed murmuring again, and the Intendant raised a silencing hand. “Quiet! All of you, quiet!”

When the room grew quiet again, the Intendant turned to Odo.

“Odo of Terok Nor, and of Bajor, you stand accused of collusion, conspiracy, and aiding and abetting an enemy of the Alliance. How do you plead?”

Odo’s eyes were filled with pain as he looked away from Arissa and turned to Kira. “Intendant, I…I didn’t know…”

“You didn’t know, Odo?" Kira said. "You didn’t know the woman you’ve been sleeping with for months was a rebel sympathizer? You didn’t know she was shuttling information, using _your_ security codes to do it, and spying for her government? You didn’t know that this… _woman_ was our enemy?...You _didn’t know_ , Odo? Prove it!”

“I…can’t, Intendant. I have no proof.”

“Garak,” Kira called. “Bring forth your evidence.”

Garak stepped down from the dais. He stood next to Kira and opened a small evidence box. He plucked out a small square of black plastic and held it up for the witnesses to see.

“Found in the quarters shared by the accused, Intendant," Garak said. "It is a surveillance device of unknown make, composed of an undetectable polymer. It was found attached, in a hidden area, to the computer operations panel in Odo’s quarters.”

Kira took the device from Garak and held it in the flat of her hand. She moved before Arissa. “Do you know this device?”

“Yes,” Arissa replied.

“Is it yours?”

“Yes.”

“Did Odo know you had it?”

“No.”

“Did you use it to steal his access codes?”

Arissa hesitated and turned to Odo. Kira grabbed Arissa's chin and squeezed.

“Don’t look at him, look at me! Did you use this device to steal Odo’s codes, then use Odo’s codes to gain access to restricted areas and information, and _then_ use Odo’s codes to transmit what you stole and sweep your tracks and _hide_ that they were Odo’s codes, making us take six whole months to catch you? Is that what you did with this little piece of polymer?”

“Yes!” Arissa cried. “Yes!”

Kira let go of Arissa’s face and took a step back. “And where did you get the device, Arissa?”

“From my government.”

“And who do you work for, Arissa?”

Arissa looked at Odo again, but Kira didn’t stop her this time.

“The Idanians.”

There was a rumble from the room, a rush of whispers and small gasps. Kira raised her hand.

“Silence!...Garak, give Odo the data PADD from Arissa’s medical scan.”

Garak stepped into the circle, handing Odo a PADD. Odo took it and reviewed it, his brow drawing down as he read.

“A DNA profile…What is this?” he asked Arissa. “What does this mean?”

“Just what it says, Odo,” Arissa said, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m not Finnean. I’m not Terran. I’m Idanian. The Idanians sent me under cover, years ago. I was surgically altered and filtered into the Alliance via Orion. My cover story was as you know it, Arissa, former pleasure woman, sold to Terok Nor for insubordination.”

Odo slid his expression into a cold, hardened mask. The PADD in his hand bent slightly in his grip.

“So everything you told me, the plans, the places you wanted to go, that…you wanted to be with me…was a lie?”

“Yes, Odo, it was. All of it.”

Garak leaned over and tapped Kira’s comm badge, silencing her mic. “Intendant, shouldn’t you stop this?” he whispered. “The accused are interrogating each other.”

“No, Garak,” she replied. “This is important to Odo’s case. Let him ask his questions, he has the right to know, and _be quiet_.”

“And when you said you loved me?” Odo asked, his voice controlled, but Kira heard the PADD's face cracking under his thumb. “That was also a lie?”

Arissa’s tears spilled and ran down her cheeks. “I’m married, Odo. I have a husband and a child on Idania, and everything I’ve done was to get back to them. I love my husband, Odo, not you, I never loved you…How could I? You’re one of _them!”_

The room revved up again, and the PADD in Odo's hand began to pop and crackle. Garak stepped in and took the PADD from Odo before he crushed it completely. Odo's glare was still trained on Arissa, his expression flat. Kira let the noise roll for a bit, buying Odo time to digest what he’d heard. It also added a little more flair to this drama.

_I hope you’re enjoying this, Worf…_

Kira raised her hand and took the floor. “Is there anyone here who doubts the words the accused has spoken? Is there anyone here who still believes Odo was complicit in the activities of the Idanian spy, Arissa? If so, step forward, and make your case.” The Intendant turned to Garak, locking her gaze with his. “With evidence.”

Garak held the Intendant’s gaze, and shook his head, once, to the negative. He had no more evidence. The room was silent as Kira waited a sufficient amount of time for anyone else to step forward. No one did. It was time to close this up.

Kira moved to stand before Odo. “Odo, with no solid evidence presented, and with the accused accepting full responsibility for her actions, the charges against you are dismissed. Your status on Terok Nor is restored, and you are a free citizen.”

Kira moved to stand in front of Arissa, drawing tall as she pitched her voice to fill the room.

“Arissa of Idania, the charges against you stand. By my judgment, and the evidence presented, and by your admissions publicly proclaimed, on the behalf of the Emperor and the Alliance, I find you guilty, as charged. The penalty is death, sentence to be carried out immediately.”

Arissa's face crumpled as the guards moved forward to take her.

“Wait,” the Intendant said, stilling the guards. “Wait…” Kira turned to Odo.

“Odo, _you_ will carry out the sentence...Guard, hand him your phaser.”

Odo dumbly took the phaser from the guard as he held the Intendant’s gaze. His face was still carefully blank, but his eyes were pleading with her. 

_Don’t make me do this…_

Kira answered him. _I'm sorry._   _You must…_

Slowly, Odo turned from the Intendant and faced Arissa. He raised the phaser. The guards cleared the way, leaving her to stand alone.

“Arissa, truly, it was all a lie?”

Tears still spilled from Arissa’s eyes. “It was all a lie, Odo."

"Are you sorry about any of it?"

"No," she said. "I'm not. I did what I had to do."

“Is Arissa even your name?” 

“No,” she said, “it isn’t.”

Odo was silent for a long moment, struggling, the room again fraught with tension. No one made a sound.

"Was it worth it?" Odo asked. "Was your cause worth all of this?"

Arissa's chin quivered. Her body was shaking as she looked at Odo and the raised phaser, but she kept her head held high.

"It was, Odo. I believed. I was willing to die for it." Arissa looked down at the phaser, and back to Odo, a plea in her voice as her trembling increased. "Please, Odo. Don't make me wait."

Agony flashed across Odo's features. He raised the phaser higher and squared his shoulders.

“As you wish," Odo said. "And for my part, whoever you are, pleasure woman, I did care for you.”

Odo hit the panel on the phaser with his thumb and fired. Arissa fell to the ground. It was done.

Odo lowered his arm. The phaser slipped slowly from his grip and hit the floor with a clatter. Odo’s body began to sway, and Kira moved quickly to wrap things up. The Emperor had his pound of flesh, and Odo’s name was clear, and now she could be done with this farce.

“This inquest is closed,” the Intendant proclaimed. She nodded to the comm chief. When they were clear, he signaled Kira.

“Clear the room! _Everyone_ out! Even you, Ziyal!”

Ziyal and the rest of the witnesses scuttled out. Odo managed to stay on his feet until the room was clear. As soon as it was, he fell to his knees before Arissa’s body.

The Intendant shrugged out of her cloak, tossed it on her throne, and hurried to Odo’s side. She eased down to sit next to him. She kept her silence for a time, aware that Odo was in a state of change, of flux. He was becoming, and what he became was dependent on this very moment. Kira chose her words carefully.

“Odo,” she began, “Arissa was right. We are monsters. Terok Nor is a den of snakes, and I am its queen. But it's us, or the Terrans, and we have to choose a side. She was a spy, our enemy, and she would have taken you down with the rest of us. She lied about being in love with you for months to achieve her goal. Arissa was just as much a monster as we are.”

Odo said nothing, still staring at Arissa’s cooling body.

“I’m sorry I forced you to this, Odo,” Kira said. “Really, I am, and you can thank Garak for part of it, but in this universe, this is how things are done. This is how power is kept. It had to be this way, in public, so everyone would see that you weren’t guilty. You had to show them your strength, your loyalty, and restore your reputation. You’ve cleared your name for good. No one will touch you now. No one will doubt you. If you can do what you did and survive it, you will be feared more anything else in the quadrant, maybe even more than me…You will be _safe_ , Odo.”

Odo turned to her. “But why did it have to be me?”

“Because she took your _name_ from you, Odo. If I’d left things the way they were and had the squad execute her, your name would be that of a man who was duped, for months. She was going to die regardless of your decision. This gave your name back to you. Do you understand now? Why I had to do this to you?”

“Yes…Intendant.”

He was still unsure.

“Odo, there is one boon I can grant, one thing that might make up for some of this, and help you trust me again. I will make you a promise. I promise I will not lie to you, ever. I may have to omit the truth, I may be able only to tell you part of it, but I swear I will never look you in the face and tell you a direct lie…For instance, Odo, I will never do what this woman did, and tell you that I love you when I don’t mean it. If I were to say such a thing to you, if I were to say, ‘I love you, Odo,’ it would always be the truth… Do you understand that, Odo? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Intendant.”

His voice was a little stronger that time. Good. Maybe he would survive this universe, after all.

Kira rose and stretched out her hand. “Now, Odo, whose side are you on? Who do you belong to?”

Odo ignored Kira's hand and slowly stood to his full height. Kira watched as the last of the light faded completely from his eyes, all softness or sympathy erasing from them. They cooled to ice-cold gems in deep-set sockets.

Odo turned his back to what was on the floor and turned those hardened, frozen eyes on Kira. Even she couldn’t suppress a shiver at the chill that crossed her heart, pinned as she was under that soulless gaze. It pleased her. It was done. He had become. Odo would survive.

“I belong to you, Intendant,” the supervisor replied. “I belong only to you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on characters belonging to Paramount. The characters are theirs, this story is mine....Mine, I said! Now, get out of my chambers!


End file.
